i'll show you how it began
by evizyt
Summary: Because to Lily, he is oxygen, she breathes him like air, and in his absence she can feel herself slowly suffocating to death. Lily/James
1. casual

_A/N: So this was originally intended to be a one-shot, but who am I kidding? I currently have six chapters written and there's no end in sight. My take on the Lily-James relationship._

000

**casual**

000

Familiar voices echoed around Lily in the hidden library niche, rousing her from a brief nap. Head still pillowed on her Transfiguration textbook, she listened groggily as Sirius Black and James Potter argued in what they clearly thought were heated whispers.

"I saw you take—" James' deep bass rumbled through the silence, effectively negating any benefit whispering would have provided, when Sirius cut him off.

"Shut _up_," he snapped. Lily rolled her eyes. He clearly hadn't even made an _effort_ to be quiet.

She was strangely gratified when James responded with a "_shh_!" echoing her own sentiments.

"…don't see what the big deal is…" Sirius grumbled, but he had lowered his voice.

Their conversation drifted away as she returned her face to its earlier position, burrowed in between the pages of the yellowing parchment. Smiling a little, she remembered an instance almost exactly a year ago, at the end of fifth year, when a library visit from Sirius and James had ended in quite a different way.

000

For as long as she could remember, Lily had studied at an out of the way table in the Magical Maladies & Potions section in the back left corner of the library. Only a few brave souls managed to enter so deeply in to the silence of dusty books and imposing shelves, so the majority of her time was spent in a relaxing, quiet environment that seemed designed for studying.

"Yo, Prongs, some Slytherin twat stole our table!" Sirius Black had practically yelled upon entry to what Lily liked to think of as _her_ section. She could see their silhouettes through cracks in the bookshelves, and she hastily tucked her nose back in the book, wishing with all her might that they would go away soon.

James Potter said something she couldn't make out, but the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. She had a feeling that things were about to get sour.

"I _do_ need a study break," Sirius said pointedly, and that seemed to decide the matter.

Before Lily even knew what was happening, there was a Slytherin fourth year dancing on the table a few shelves down with no trousers on, and James and Sirius were laughing so hard that tears were leaking from their eyes.

She stormed up to them, rationality seceding to rage as she resisted the urge to give James a vicious shove. "Enough!" She hissed at them, eyes crackling angrily. "This is a _library_, there are _exams_ to study for, you are _torturing_ a fellow student, and _you are being LOUD_!"

Sirius Black simply smirked at her, running his fingers through his hair, and probably thinking back to the incident a few weeks ago in which Lily had publicly humiliated James in front of the lake. Then, James had refused to back down, continuing to hex Severus after Lily had refused to date him.

Now, he paused, and lowered his wand imperceptibly, beginning to look slightly guilty, when Sirius shot him a look.

"What is it with you, Evans, anyways?" Sirius asked. "Got a soft spot for Slytherins? Or just like being Miss Goody-goody?"

"I just have a shred of common decency, is all," Lily snapped. "Now let him go unless you want me to get Madame Pince."

"Ooo, I'm scared," James said, wiggling his fingers and widening his eyes in a clear attempt to act nonchalant and cool.

"Oh shut up, Potter." Lily rolled her eyes. "You and Black, you think you're _so_ cool. Well, I have news for you two losers—you disgust me."

With that, she turned heel and gathered her belongings, alerting Madame Pince on the way out that Potter and Black were harassing an innocent student.

_I hope they get detention for it_, she thought grimly.

000

She was returned abruptly to the present as James' and Sirius' voices were drawing near once again. She actually couldn't really remember the last time she'd spoken with one of them—they sat in the back for classes and mucked around a bit more than she did. They'd never been part of her group of friends, and when James had gotten it in to his head during fifth year that it was practically his _right_ to date her, he and Sirius had become insufferable.

She snuggled deeper in to her seat and book, hoping they wouldn't walk by her table.

"…and I thought, maybe, you should know. If we plan to go out this—" That was Sirius, the haughty tone instantly recognizable.

"For Merlin's sake, Padfoot, not here!"

What in the world could they be talking about? Lily wondered idly, tuning out the first part of Sirius' next statement.

"…matters. It's not like anyone is here anyway."

"Let me just check, then," James replied, and Lily knew she was caught. A few seconds later, and a tousled black head, quickly followed by a lanky, lean body, was peering around the shelf. She propped herself up on her elbows, realizing that her hair had probably never looked worse.

James froze upon seeing Lily's face rise up from the pile of books and parchment. "Oh, uh, Evans, uh, hey, Evans," he stammered, fumbling for a graceful recovery from his shock.

"Did you just say _Evans_?" Sirius' voice trailed from a few shelves down, laden with hidden meaning.

"_Shut up_," James growled more vehemently than Lily had probably ever heard him do _anything_, much less tell off his best friend, and to her utter surprise, his cheeks turned bright pink. "I—uh." He ran a hand through his hair, and Lily forced herself to keep her eyes from accidentally closing, trying to fully wake up. She was vaguely curious to see what he was going to say, as, honestly, they hadn't interacted in a while.

"How's it going?" He settled on, and Lily swallowed a smile.

"Fine, Potter, you?" She asked neutrally, deliberately ignoring his awkwardness and the incumbent awkwardness that often comes after a year of silence on top of five years of not being friends.

He blinked, obviously not expecting an answer, and ran another hand through his hair. It was now standing up completely on end. "Good. Um, I—we didn't mean to wake you, that is," he said. His neck was now also red.

At this point, Lily found herself confused. She didn't like James Potter. They were not friends, they were not acquaintances, and they had never really spoken much or gotten along terribly well. He'd gone through that terrible phase in fifth year (she hated even to think about it, that had been such a terrible year) and he had deliberately and successfully riled her up a few more times than she cared to admit.

She felt at a disadvantage, as part of her was sure that he knew her better than she knew him—even if his knowledge consisted solely of what made her angry.

Yet here he was, acting sweet and correctly awkward for their level of intimacy (which was approximately zero,) and she found herself entertaining the idea of having a conversation with him. After all, he was in quite a few of her classes, and they would probably see more of each other next year. They'd both grown up a bit, and there was no harm in trying to minimize enemies, right?

So it was that Lily Evans flashed James Potter a quick, conservative smile. "No, you didn't," she said. "I was just bemoaning the state of my Transfiguration essay," she offered, and was amused to see his eyes light at the opportunity.

"The one on solid versus liquid shape changes?"

"It's killing me."

"Ah, me too," he said, leaning idly against the bookshelf and looking completely at ease, as if he had not just spend the last five minutes dying inside. "McGonagall really knows how to get us—she always seems to assign her essays right at crunch time."

And, abruptly, Lily found herself laughing and agreeing, as she had thought she'd been the only one to notice that.

Internally, though, she was still a little bit torn. She couldn't quite get over the fact that she was sitting here, laughing and talking amiably with the boy who used to hex younger children and her old friends like Severus. On several occasions in fifth year she had sworn her undying hatred for him, had professed to her friends that he was the lowliest scum of the earth, and had ultimately publicly humiliated him.

And yet. She just couldn't bring herself to hate him anymore. _That ship has sailed,_ she thought to herself. She was tired of being angry and hating him, tired of being mad. She had, she realized, grown up a little bit. Maybe he'd grown up a bit too.

_Everyone deserves a second chance. _

The conversation petered out after the topic of Transfiguration essays, and essays in general, was thoroughly exhausted.

"Well, good luck finishing it up," James said, and Lily gave him another smile. It wasn't her huge, shining-eyed, face-shaping, teeth-baring smile, which induced brilliant grins in return, but it was a friendly upturn of the lips, quirking of the eyes, that would be quite enough for the present.

And James, bless his soul, gave her the hugest grin she'd ever seen him sport. His eyes lit up and his teeth shone, and Lily understood—if just for a moment—why it was that certain smiles were described as "knee-weakening." He left her alone with her essay, basking in the glow of his smile and the blush that stained the back of his neck as he retreated.

Feeling the back of her neck, Lily realized it was equally warm.

000

Talking to James was the weirdest, most natural thing in the world. It was pretty close to exams so things were coming to a head, and it wasn't like Lily suddenly had loads of free time on her hands, but she somehow managed to squeeze in a few conversations with James before summer break hit her like a train.

The day of the Herbology exam—which was, of course, in the morning, Lily dragged herself miserably out of bed and down to breakfast, planning on doing some last minute review, aided by copious coffee.

Sadly one of the first people in the great hall, she rubbed bleary eyes, thinking dire thoughts about chipper morning people, and spread out her notes.

About fifteen minutes later, just as she was deciding that Herbology was an utter waste of time that not even coffee could improve, James Potter sauntered in, plopping himself directly across from her. Confusion mixed with—panic? excitement? flitted through her, and she saw something similar mirrored in his eyes. A second later, however, and it was gone.

"Herbology," she said, pointing to her notes. "Making me question why I decided to take the class."

"Probably because you're crazy," James replied smoothly, and instead of getting her back up, Lily just laughed. She was beginning to realize that most of what James said was designed to be humorous—you just couldn't take him, or yourself, too seriously.

"You're just jealous you're not in our class."

James snorted. "Yeah, because I miss Sprout _so-oo_ much."

Lily snapped her fingers. "I always knew you had a thing for her! No wonder you got such good grades in that class!"

"Hey, hey, woah, woah," James said, holding up his hands. "I came by those honestly." He smirked. "Or, well, mostly."

Lily couldn't resist, she burst in to laughter again.

"So Herbology, huh?" He asked. "You really got up this early for Herbology?"

"Yeah," she shrugged, then looked at him curiously. "What are you up for this early, anyways?"

James lifted a broom out from under the table that she hadn't previously noticed. "I like to do some flying during exams. Helps to clear my head, you know?"

Lily nodded. "I go running in the afternoons," she volunteered. "It helps me concentrate."

"You do?" James looked surprised. "I had no idea. I mean—I. That's cool, where do you go?"

She ignored his awkward stumble. Slip-ups like that were bound to happen when you were making friends with someone you had previously considered an enemy. "Sometimes around the lake, or around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, wherever, really. Alice sometimes runs with me when it's warmer, and we'll go for a shorter time." She shrugged. "So do you just fly around the pitch?"

"Basically. Sometimes it's nice to kind of tour around campus and enjoy the scenery, but in the mornings I usually just do laps—I don't trust myself to fly much further out." He tossed her a smile. "Might fall asleep."

Lily grinned outright at that.

"Bloody morning people," she swore, shaking her head. "Wish 'em all the worst."

James tossed back his head and let loose a guffaw. "You can say that again," he managed through his laughter. After that, though, he leaned forward to scoop up his broom. Grabbing a slice of toast from his untouched plate, he tipped Lily a salute. "Got to head out, catch you later Evans."

She watched him go, surprised that she had been enjoying the conversation and wishing that he could stay longer.

It was only after he had exited the hall that she realized he hadn't eaten a thing.

_Well_.

But there was plenty of time, after all. It was only the end of sixth year.


	2. mild frustration

000

**mild frustration**

000

Lily flicked her hair to the side, simultaneously sneaking a glance out of the corner of her eye.

He is watching her again.

It is fifth year, Transfiguration class, and her chin is pressed firmly in to her palm. And, as she dutifully takes notes with the other hand, she can feel his eyes burning in to the left side of her head.

She has seen him around more than usual, lately. He bumped in to her in the corridor the other day, and then refused to make eye contact.

Lily narrows her eyes. She doesn't like James Potter and his raucous cronies—at least, not for any length of time. They do some funny stuff, but they've also done some really adolescent, childish stuff that she doesn't find amusing at all.

For instance, when she told James to stop calling her "carrot," in fourth year, he turned her hair green, insisting that he was helping her out. Later, he changed his story, telling her that he had turned it green because it really "brought out her eyes."

Her hair had been green for a week.

And it's not like she was some stuck-up prick, either. Pranks are all in good fun, and she had made sure that everyone in the Gryffindor common room got a good view of his knickers the next week, but it was just an example of how sometimes the boys didn't quite see the boundary—they took things a little too far.

Sirius Black and James Potter were also just generally fairly insufferable, as they seemed to think quite highly of themselves for getting lots of detention and turning innocents' hair green and the like. Lily really didn't think they were that special at all, but as long as they confined themselves to fairly harmless jokes and tricks, it's not like she really cared.

The bell rings and Lily leaves Transfiguration, hungry for lunch and also eager to get away from the smarting stare of a certain black-haired boy. Luck is not with her, however, for as she enters the great hall she feels a hand on her arm.

"Evans," a teenage voice says imperiously. "Walk with me for a minute." It's not really a question, and Lily stifles a giggle. The words would be much more intimidating if they hadn't been delivered in the wavering, wannabe-baritone typical of a developing bass in a fifteen-year-old boy.

She looks up at James Potter, who is currently running a hand through his hair, looking altogether rather skinny and awkward. She imagines he's looking better than he did at the end of fourth year (although the girls still sighed over him then—she can't imagine why,) but he still has a while to go before he's quite grown in to his lanky form.

However, the amicable smile that this overall image summons is suppressed by the annoyance Lily feels at being arrogantly delayed from the hearty lunch she is craving. She decides to simply brush him off, unsure of what they really need to talk about anyways. After all, they're not friends, so she doesn't really feel the need to tread lightly around his feelings.

"Sorry, Potter, I'm actually just on my way—" she begins, but he cuts her off by firmly grabbing her hand and practically tugging her away from the doors. A few people around them look at her strangely as she dramatically stumbles in to step behind him, and once they're alone she wastes no time in wrenching her hand from his grip.

"Potter! What are you doing?" She demands, and a slight edge has come in to her voice.

"Go out with me, Evans." James says, and once again, it's less of a question than it is an assumption.

"I'll pass, thanks." Lily snaps, huffing angrily, and hurries away.

Later, finally comfortably settled between Alice and Frank, munching on an enormous sandwich, she allows herself to angrily remember how shocked he looked at her refusal.

_As if I would have said yes!_ She thinks, furiously remembering how he grabbed her hand as if it were his property. _Even if he hadn't practically dragged me through the hall..._ She shakes her head, chomping down viciously on the chicken sandwich.

Frank laughs. "Lil, what'd that sandwich ever do to you?"

Managing to swallow her large bite, Lily gives him a weak smile in return. "James Potter just asked—well, ordered—me to go on a date with me," she confesses, unsure whether to be angry or nauseous.

"Oh re_a_lly?" Alice asks with a smile, elongating the middle of the word. She doesn't dislike the Gryffindor fifth years quite as much as Lily does, and so is not as immune to their alleged charms.

Frank elbows Lily in the side, laughing. "Yeah, how'd you take it?"

"I mean…I just told him no and walked away."

"You said no?" Frank seems genuinely surprised. A year above Lily and Alice, he doesn't interact with the fifth year boys very much, and consequently doesn't grasp their frustration with them. "I thought Potter was a pretty decent hit with the ladies."

"I mean…Black's definitely the best looking one," Alice muses. "But Potter has a certain rugged appeal."

Frank coughs, and Lily eyes him suspiciously, wondering for the umpteenth time if his feelings for Alice are truly as brotherly as he claims. "I'm going to have to differ," she says. "All I see when I look at them is scrawny teenage boy. I prefer my men a little more filled out."

Alice smiles. "I mean, there's certainly nothing wrong with older boys," she admits, blue eyes wide and innocent as she lowers her lashes for a quick, heated glance at Frank that Lily pretends not to see. "So anyways, Lily, what are you going to do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will you avoid Potter? Do you think it will be awkward?"

"It's not like we really spoke before," Lily says hesitantly. "I never really went out of my way to talk to him. I guess I'll just let him call the shots, or whatever. I'm pretty neutral."

"The thing about Potter," Frank pauses. "I've heard that he's a rather persistent fellow," he settles on finally.

"Frank, you're going to have to elaborate," Alice says, rolling her eyes.

"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to ask you out again."

Lily laughs. "Oh, please. Even _I'm_ not that irresistible. Besides, we're fifteen, there's tons of other students around, and it's the beginning of the year. If, and mind you, I say _if_, he has actually convinced himself that he has some sort of _crush_," she snorts the word with derision, "on me, he'll get over it by tomorrow."

Frank shrugs, looking dubious, but allows the subject to drop. Lily chatters about another of her roommates, Margot, who was caught in a broom closet with one of the Slytherin fifth years, Theo. Frank begins telling tales about one of his friends in seventh year, Teddy, and the Slytherin "bird" he had been seen with the other day, and the conversation continues as Lily finishes her sandwich.

Alice sits on Lily's other side, watching James Potter from behind a curtain of blonde hair. The way his eyes are boring holes in Lily, she surmises, are definitely _not _that of "just a crush."

But there is plenty of time. They are, after all, just beginning their fifth year.


	3. contemplative

000

**contemplative**

000

Lying on her bed, listening to her mother and Petunia scream at each other about rent money and boyfriends and the like, Lily began to go through her summer homework.

"God, they really _kill_ the seventh years," she muttered, pulling her hair back in to a ponytail. She'd been growing it out over the summer, with the consequence that now whenever she really wanted to concentrate on something she had to pull it up.

She refused to admit, or even think about, the brief conversation she _may_ have had with a certain _boy_ who _may_ have complimented its length on the train home. She had been planning to grow it out anyways, she doubted that _that_ really had anything to do with it.

Mostly.

Two essays later, and the screaming had died down, with the exception of an occasional screech that was definitely Petunia. Her mother rarely raised her voice, but Petunia had recently been utterly intolerable. Lily muttered grimly to herself, shaking her head. She hated the man her older sister had been carrying on with lately—and her mother was of much the same mind. The fighting, she was told, had been almost perpetual since Christmas. Now, Petunia was determined to move in to an apartment with him.

It was a questionable age in muggle society. It was the era of change, post world war II and the American Vietnam war, and womens' traditional positions had never been in more question. It was the 70s, and it seemed as though Meghan Evans had just finished burning her bra and marching on men for the right to vote.

When Steven had died in Lily's third year, Meghan had gone off the deep end for a while. She had started smoking dope, Lily was fairly sure, and dressed in long colorful skirts that Lily was sure were popular somewhere in America, she just wasn't quite sure where.

Funnily enough, Lily mused, sliding down on her bed so that she could rest her chin on her crossed wrists, hair splaying along her biceps, reaching almost to her elbows, it had actually been James Potter who kept her from going equally crazy herself.

000

She had been informed that her father was dying the summer before her third year—quietly, softly, sadly. The doctors hoped she wouldn't take it the wrong way—but the cancer had metastasized to his liver, and, save a miracle, there was no hope.

Sometimes Lily wondered if this had been when Petunia had begun to hate her—although there was another incident, in the darkest depths of her memory, to which she could truly tie the genesis of this emotion. Petunia had been adamant that magic must somehow be able to save Steven. Magical regulation laws were not as strict in those days (before the rise of Voldemort) as they later became, and underage witches and wizards were allowed to practice magic in their homes. Even if performed around muggles, if the viewing muggles were strictly blood-related, no Ministry action was taken.

Lily had consequently delighted her father and mother with small tokens of her progress—turning tea cups in to frogs, changing matches to needles, and the like. (The frogs, however, seemed to be what permanently remained in Petunia's memory.)

Petunia appeared to believe that Lily could wave her wand and make the tumor disappear, or that some other witch or wizard would surely be able to cure the cancer. While Lily had no knowledge then of St. Mungos—the Hogwarts Infirmary being the closest she had come to wizarding hospitals—she certainly couldn't cure her father herself, and the wizarding world also had yet to develop a cure for certain death.

Petunia had always blamed her for Steven's death.

Lily had returned to school that year with a leaden heart and a guilty conscience. Steven was lying on his deathbed in some sterilized muggle hospital, wracked with pain as his body slowly shut down, and she was shuttled off to boarding school, unable even to comfort her mother. Both parents had insisted that it was more important for her to continue with her education, and to lead some semblance of a normal life. Besides, Meghan had said, Petunia would be plenty of company for her.

A month into classes, and Lily received the owl detailing her father's death. It was written in an unrecognizable script that was later determined to be one of their neighbors, and signed shakily in her mother's hand, splotched with tears.

It had been a Wednesday, she remembered. Dumbledore called her out of Charms class to give her the owl, and excused her from her classes for the rest of the day.

"While I can also excuse you from class for the remainder of the week," he said kindly, "I would recommend that you attempt to attend. Grief, however strong, is best combatted with occupation and companionship."

Lily found her voice quite absent, and merely nodded numbly.

Dumbledore had patted her gently on her shoulder, showing her to the door. "Should you ever wish to talk, my dear, my door, as well as those of all the other teachers, is open."

Again, Lily managed to nod, and tried to swallow down the lump in her throat to thank him, but found that it was once again beyond her. She slipped out the door and in to the corridor, and found herself running for the closest bathroom.

She wasn't sure how she ended up in Moaning Myrtle's loo, but she was immensely grateful for the solitude as she rushed in to the closest toilet and was violently ill. She retched until there was nothing left in her stomach and her head was spinning, yet she still felt sick to her stomach.

Finally, she was able to lean her head against the flimsy plastic door of the toilet, scrunch her eyes up, and cry.

Peter Pettigrew found her like that, scrunched in a ball, a couple hours later, when he came to check on a potion that the Marauders had been brewing in the stall a few doors down.

"Evans?" He squeaked, looking terrified at being found out, and then even more terrified at the state she was in.

Lily refused to acknowledge him, turning her puffy face away as the tears continued to leak from her eyes.

Pettigrew left the bathroom at a dead sprint, and even in her numb state, Lily caught snippets of conversation from the boy's bathroom next door.

"Evans" and "crying" were the most prominent, and the voices grew louder and more distinct.

"Remus, you go," came Black's haughty voice, and then Remus broke in. "I think James should do it."

"Wha—what? Why me?"

"Because," Lupin said in a tone of finality. "You know how to make someone feel better about something life-changing." His words were layered with some deeper meaning.

Lily didn't hear the door opening, but when she felt a slim arm slip around her shoulders, lifting her head off the wall, she gratefully tucked her head under James Potter's head, sobbing in to his t-shirt.

They sat like this for a long time, his hand mechanically stroking her sleek cap of red hair, now just long enough to tickle her chin. He held her as if he could absorb her pain, momentarily older than his thirteen years.

"He's dead." Lily said finally, when she could cry no more. "My father's dead."

But instead of the sharp, panicked, pitying breath she would come to expect from others—friends, teachers, roommates—there was no change in the rhythm of his movement or breathing. A long moment of silence strung between them, with Lily feeling curiously light now that the words had finally left her tongue.

"How did he die?" James asked, strangely deep voice rumbling in his chest. It was not the beautiful and surprising bass it would one day be, but it was oddly mature, and Lily was comforted to be gently cradled in the embrace of the owner of that lovely voice.

"Cancer," Lily whispered, and suddenly she was explaining the whole story, from his initial diagnosis to Petunia's blame to her fear for her mother. She talked to him until her voice was raw, and then, finally, he persuaded her to drink a little water.

He had walked her back to the common room that night, and found Alice, and made sure she was safe and comfortable.

Lily wasn't sure what she had expected, but as she began to recover, they didn't suddenly become great friends. Instead, he teased her just as usual, pranking her and infuriating her, and, she realized many years later, very effectively distracting her.

He had been the first person to comfort her, on whom the real rush of grief and pain had broken. The incident faded from memory, the brief companionship that it had created dwindling.

Alice never mentioned the fact that she had walked in with him that day, and he slipped out of her life as quickly as he had nosed his way in. Much later, Lily would reflect on the years to come, and realize that this was the first time she had ever seen him with his head "deflated" and the last time she would for a long time.

He would never understand, but if he had simply acted like himself all along, perhaps all the torturous years of waiting and wanting could have been avoided.

But then again, perhaps not.

They were never really friends, and Lily's gentle intolerance of him slowly grew to a more forceful dislike, but she could never hate him, not really. Always, just beneath the surface, lurked the phantom of friendship—the delicate suggestion of "what if."

000

Just as she was putting her parchment and ink away, determined to have a good nap, her mother's voice trailed up the stairs to her.

"Lilianne—your owl is at the window down here!" Meghan Evans' voice was clear and warm, an abrupt change from the heated tones she had recently been directing at her other daughter.

With a groan, Lily hauled herself from the comfort of her bed, trudging down the narrow staircase, dodging an enraged Petunia as the older girl flung herself up the stairs to her bedroom.

Asteria, her owl, was perched delicately on one of the kitchen chairs, a large envelope clutched in her talons.

"Hello dear," Lily cooed, smiling at her mother as she slipped in to one of the chairs, cutting the envelope open with a knife.

A large _clunk_ echoed through the room as a heavy metal badge fell from the envelope.

"MUM!" Lily shrieked, holding it up in delight, as Meghan Evans looked around the cabinets with a dreamy curiosity. "Mum, I got Head Girl!" Lily danced around the kitchen, glowing, as she pinned the badge to the front of her T-shirt and admired it in the oven door. "I can't believe it! I never even expected it!" She squealed, ecstatic.

"I'm so proud," Meghan said, finally catching her daughter in an embrace. "I always knew you had to be one of the best students," she continued, as Lily blushed a warm pink. "So do you suppose the letter is all about your responsibilities and such? Do you need to buy anything extra at Diagon Alley?"

"I don't think so…" Lily muttered, picking up the letter and beginning to read it. "Oh, mum! We get to boss around the Prefects, and we have our first meeting on the train…Oh! Professor Dumbledore is being so complimentary…Oh, mum, he said Slughorn specifically recommended me! He wrote a letter of recommendation—all the teachers did! We get to organize a bunch of things, and we have to help the Professors choose Hogsmeade weekends, and if there is ever a time of crisis, he expects us to help just as much as the faculty," Lily finished, smiling proudly.

"Honey, that's awesome. Who's the Head Boy?"

"Um…" Lily perused the letter. "Um… oh, it's James Potter. Oh!" She gave a little gasp of surprise. "I—well. I'm not sure how I really feel about that."

"James Potter—isn't he the one that dumped all that mud on you a few years ago?"

Lily laughed, looking dreamy. "I'd forgotten about that…yes, that was him. He's," she smiled to herself, not realizing the funny look Meghan was giving her. "He's grown up a lot since then."

"That's nice, dear. Well, at least he's not one of those… Slyhertins."

"Slytherins," Lily corrected her absently, still lost in thought. "Slither, like a snake."

"Yes, yes, that's right. Tea?" Meghan asked as she began to bustle around the kitchen. "We should have a little celebratory dinner for you one of these nights. What would you like?"

Lily shook her head, as if to clear it. "Let's have lobster," she said on a whim. "We haven't had lobster since—" she stopped. Lobster had been Lily and Steven's favorite food. She didn't know why she was thinking of it suddenly, but they hadn't had it since Steven's death. Since that day, so long ago, when James had comforted her in the bathroom. She still didn't know what had happened after that day, why she had forgotten it so quickly, why they had never been friends, why he had asked her out so rudely and childishly, why she had refused him so roughly.

_What could have been?_ She wondered. _Could things have been happier? _But looking back on her Hogwarts years, had she really been unhappy? Had she really despised James' adolescent attempts at winning her attention—the funny pranks and the rude comments? He had been nasty only once, to Severus, and even the hexing of members of Slytherin had been a brief, immature phase.

Maybe if she could just have spoken to him, if he had just been a little nicer, a little more mature, a little less annoying… Maybe they could have been friends.

"—for a long time," Lily finished, not sure anymore if she was talking about the lobster or James.


	4. a civil conversation

**a civil conversation**

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"Bye mum," Lily muttered, awkwardly kissing Meghan on the cheek as she eyed fellow Hogwarts students slipping through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾.

As evidenced by Meghan's earlier arguments with Petunia, the last year, Lily's sixth year, had brought about a change in her mother. Meghan was no longer dressing and acting foolishly and childishly, and she was thinking rationally again. The hippy clothes had once again been retired (this time hopefully with more permanence,) and Meghan once again dressed and went through the motions of being connected.

But they were only motions. She had never recovered from Steven's early death.

There had been, Lily thought to herself, oddly and uncharacteristically, as they walked together to the platform, no James in her life.

Meghan was sickly and pale, too thin, and retained a dreamy, far-away quality, as if looking in on a past life. It made Lily uncomfortable. She much preferred it when her mother was shouting at Petunia, or bossing her around. But this seemed to happen less and less, as Meghan's hair grew duller and she grew thinner.

And she was being honest, Lily supposed, when she thought to herself that Meghan hadn't had a James Potter. Perhaps she would bring him to visit over a break, as a fellow head. If they were friends. Her mother would enjoy a small demonstration of some of their magical skills—she and Steven had always delighted in Lily's little acts of witchery.

Abruptly, Lily reeled her mind back to the present, genuinely shocked at her train of thought.

He had probably forgotten all about that day in the bathroom, so long ago.

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On the other side of the pillar, James Potter watched as Lily kissed a tall blonde woman gently on the cheek. Noticing the similarity in their faces, he assumed that must be her mother.

He was jolted back to third year—holding a terrified, sobbing Lily in his arms as she related the tale of her father's death.

She probably didn't remember it anymore, the single moment erased in the general trauma and stress of that year. But he would always be able to instantly recall the exact sensations—her nose squished in to his chest, shirt slowly warming as it mingled with sweat and tears, her hair tickling his chin.

It was longer now, he noted absently, reaching past her shoulders to tickle her shoulder blades. She had always kept her hair in a short bob, barely brushing the bottom of her earlobes. It looked beautiful long.

Mrs. Evans looked sad. She was fairly tall, and rail thin. The unflattering clothes practically hung off her frame, and her cheeks were sunken. He noticed how Lily oriented herself protectively around her mother, and correctly assumed that she was the adult in the relationship, caring for her mother and ensuring that she came to no harm.

The vivid memory of that terrible day lingered. Had that been the first day he loved her? He couldn't really remember now—all the moments blended together in a montage so violently beautiful it hurt to think about.

"James?" His own mother's voice interrupted his thoughts, as Eileen Potter laid a hand on his arm. She followed his gaze, falling silent abruptly. "Oh."

Stanley Potter was conversing animatedly with one of his friends from the Ministry, leaving James and Eileen momentarily alone.

"That's her, isn't it?" Eileen asked.

James was silent, unsure as to how to respond. He hadn't ever really articulated for his parents how he felt about Lily—they were older, and surely had forgotten all the once knew about love.

He blushed. "That's Lily Evans. She's…Head Girl. But I don't think she likes me much."

Eileen laughed. "Don't worry," she said fondly. "I'm sure she'll come round."

That was as far as they got, for James was toppled as Sirius Black hurtled in to him at top speed, nearly overbalancing him.

James resisted the urge to tackle his friend, instead, dropping everything, he pulled him in to a headlock.

"Jamie-boy!" Sirius cooed, the effect slightly muffled by the headlock. "How was summer, lover-boy?"

"You would know," James grumbled, pulling him out of the headlock to embrace him roughly. "You came over practically every day."

Sirius grinned. "False, mate, twice a week tops."

"Good to see you too, loser," James said, smiling as well. He glanced over Sirius' shoulder, trying to catch another glimpse of Lily and her mother, but they were gone.

Sirius' sharp eyes didn't miss the motion, and a knowing gleam entered them even as he shook his head slightly.

"And then he was pulling him in to a headlock and abruptly ejecting him, brushing past James to pull Eileen into a bear hug. "Hi Mrs. Potter!" He crowed exuberantly.

She laughed, the familiar litany of warm melody that both boys adored. "Sirius! Put me down you great lug! How are you doing?" She asked when her feet had returned to solid ground, brushing his hair from his eyes so she could frame his face in her hands. "Here, let me look at you. Your hair's gotten longer again." It hung almost to his shoulders, framing his face in a wealth of blue-black waves. "I've always adored this charcoal color," she sighed, running her fingers through it. She was the only person James knew that Sirius would allow to touch him this way.

"What about my hair, mum?" James butted in, dragging her other hand into his unruly mass of curls. "You don't like my brownish-black? Just because I'm not a pretty boy…" He hip-checked Sirius.

Sirius flipped his hair, eyeing James sidelong. "Jealousy doesn't become you, mate," he teased. James gave him a playful shove.

"It's ok, you may have gotten the beauty but I have the rugged masculine qualities that truly matter to the ladies." He flexed a little.

Sirius snorted. Eileen gently pushed James' arm down so that she could see Sirius again. "How was the rest of your summer, dear?"

"Pretty low-key," Sirius said. "Thank you so much for all your help and everything."

"Dear," said Eileen, one hand still resting on Sirius' cheek, holding the sharp line of his cheekbone as if she would hold him together herself, prevent his deceptively delicate exterior from disintegrating, "you know you're always welcome at our house for Sunday dinner." She gave James a look. "Regardless of whether this hooligan is around."

"Hey!" James cried, but mostly to give Sirius the chance to turn away and cough loudly into his sleeve, diffusing the emotional charge of the moment.

"Thanks Mrs. Potter," Sirius said gruffly, pulling her into another hug ("Sirius! No!") and then heading over to shake Mr. Potter's hand.

James turned to follow, but Eileen grabbed his hand. She brought it close to her, holding his knuckled against her cheek.

"I worry about you boys every year," she whispered. "But this year more than ever."

James tried to crack a grin and laugh, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"I won't tell you to work hard and be good," Eileen continued. "You're a good boy and you always do well. But James," she sighed, "promise me you will be _careful_."

James leaned in, kissing her softly on the cheek and allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck. He had forgotten how much he had grown, and how miniature his mum was to him now.

"I promise," he whispered, and meant it. He leaned in to her arms, and for a moment allowed himself to feel the brief swell of emotion that he usually kept in check. Then, coughing firmly and clearing his throat, he then gently dislodged himself. Eileen brushed a telltale tear from her cheek and waved as he embraced his father as well, following Sirius to the train.

"James," Stanley called at his retreating back, his deep, resonating voice a suggestion of what James' would one day become.

James turned around. It was an image of his parents that would stay with him forever, a still frame in his mind. His father stood, tall and broad shouldered, his blue eyes snapping and his weathered face handsome despite his age, stoic face framed by hair so reminiscent of James' own, resolutely wild and black. His mother was tucked under one of those strong arms, arms that had always been symbols of safety and security, and her softly elegant hair, a deep auburn now laced with threads and tendrils of grey, was splayed across one of those confident shoulders.

"We think of you every day."

James found his throat was suddenly closed up, and he couldn't really think of anything to say, anyways. He nodded, once, and turned away. The Hogwarts Express began to whistle, and he and Sirius hurried to throw their trunks aboard and hop on.

"Let's go find Remus and Peter," Sirius suggested, once they and all their belongings had safely been hauled aboard.

James felt the back of his neck heating up. "Uh, Padfoot, I actually kind of forgot to tell you… The thing is…" Sirius looked up sharply, nothing escaping his sharp gaze. "Well, I kind of can't." James finished lamely, and he felt the blush spread.

"Are you blushing?" Sirius asked, an edge in his voice. "Why can't—" He stopped, eyes darting to James' hand fishing in his pocket, putting two and two together. "No way." Guilty hazel eyes met Sirius' dark ones. "_You're_ head boy?" He asked incredulously, knocking James' hand away to reveal the badge, its vulgar shine refuting Sirius' disbelieving tone.

"How?" Sirius asked, and James shrugged, practically laughing with relief.

"Haven't a clue," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Bally ridiculous, if you ask me. Don't know the first thing about enforcing rules."

Sirius punched him in the shoulder. "You'll be fine." James let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, as the validation of his best friend abruptly made everything seem less daunting. "Alright, go play at patrolling," Sirius said, shoving him toward the front of the train. "Make sure you come find us for a bit, don't overwork yourself."

"Fat chance of that," James quipped, and Sirius bared his teeth in a ferocious grin before turning around.

"You know you won't be able to stop me, right?" He called over his shoulder.

James broke into a grin as well, looking over his shoulder as he pulled open the Head's compartment door. "I wouldn't dream of it."

000

Lily looked up in surprise as the compartment door opened, hardly expecting James Potter to materialize—_on time_.

"Hey," he said somewhat awkwardly, flicking his index and middle finger of his right hand toward her in an attempt at a rakish salute. She covered a smile with her hand. "How're you?"

"I'm doing well, thanks," she replied, nodding politely, noncommittally, and shuffling her bag to make room for him at the table. He unceremoniously plopped down across from her, and the room filled with silence.

"So, how was your summer?" She stammered hastily.

He coughed. "Uh, good, you know. Nothing too remarkable, oh, thanks," he said as she removed a newspaper from under his elbow. "I was home for most of it, Sirius came over a lot…Basically pretty standard. You?"

Lily shrugged. "Oh fine," she motioned vaguely, and when she didn't elaborate James didn't press.

"So what are we supposed to be doing right now? Speaking of which, can you even believe I got Head Boy?" Surprisingly, Lily found herself laughing at his genuine honesty and self-deprecating humor. "I mean seriously, you were a shoe-in. But Dumbledore's sure as hell drinking something besides pumpkin juice up in that office if he's handing it out to the likes of me."

Lily shook her head. "That's not exactly true," she pointed out delicately, and he glanced at her, eyes so full of hope that she just had to continue. "I mean, you get top marks as well, and, well, you're very well liked."

James stared at her as if she had just grown three heads and named herself Fluffy. "I-I beg your pardon?" He coquetted. "Did I just hear, Merlin forbid, Lily Evans pay me a compliment? Albeit grudgingly?"

Again, Lily found herself laughing gently almost against her will. "Don't get used to it."

There was a moment of awkward silence, during which James stared at her a little too intensely.

"Well?" She finally asked.

"What?"

"Well, what did you want to say?"

James blushed. "What?"

"You look like you're about to burst," Lily said. "Spit it out."

He gave her that look again, the weird, penetrating one. "I'm trying to decide something."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"I can't figure out whether it's me who's changed…or you."

Lily froze. A year ago, two years ago, and she would have taken this as some sort of strange chat-up line and begun to berate him for his lack of anything resembling human decency. Or she would have just snorted and declared that it was impossible for someone like James Potter to change, and even if he had, it was doubtful he was any better than before.

So it was that it came as a surprise to both of them when she contemplatively cocked her head, eyeing him with a peculiarly familiar half smile, and shrugged.

The silence from the moment stretched out.

"So," Lily said finally, clearing her throat. "About this…patrol business…"

James seemed to shake himself. "Right of course. Here, I have a list of all the prefects…"


	5. unique

A/N: A little shorter, as it's a flashback chapter. Next chapter is tres exciting, get ready! Wow, this story has somehow gotten all long on me, while I wasn't paying attention. Enjoy!

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**unique**

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"Pass the jam, please?" Lily looked up, suppressing the thrill of surprise she still experienced when James Potter asked her a perfectly normal question, in a perfectly normal tone, and she responded the same way.

"One second." She finished jamming her own toast, and then pushed it towards him.

He smacked his lips. "Oh, yum, blackberry, my favorite."

"It's all about the raspberry," she disagreed, and then laughed at the expression on his face.

"Ew, all the yucky little seeds," he said in reply.

"Can't handle the challenge of chewing, Potter?"

He raised an eyebrow, and Lily suppressed a groan at herself. She really said the most idiotic things sometimes.

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There had been a moment, in Fourth Year, Lily thinks, when it probably all began. When all of her problems probably all began.

Call it genesis, if you would. Delving back to the origins. It was almost an archeological work of art.

This was vaguely after the green-hair incident; in the general time frame of it. She was in fourth year and time was fluid. Deadlines meant nothing and she still wasn't sure what classes she wanted to take for her O. . Grades didn't matter and good grades were relatively easy, anyways. She spent most of the spring by the lake with her friends, reveling in the unusually beautiful, exceptionally welcome, warm spring days.

Sometimes they brought books to read and assignments to pour over, usually they didn't. Her freckles—every redhead's curse—began to pop out on her pale skin, and she found herself utterly uncaring.

Her hair had recovered from being literally the same shade of the grass for a time that was far too prolonged, and she had successfully charmed James' ears so that they poured consistent and heavy dark steam like he was constantly on a Pepper-Up potion.

It was with this feeling of satisfaction that she relaxed, miraculously alone and untroubled, by the lake, lying on a ratty blanket that she and Alice had saved from so long ago and shared for this very purpose.

This was the day that Lily learned of the existence of James' invisibility cloak, for she was suddenly and unceremoniously covered in mud. Not a single part of her body was spared the drenching, whether it was in mud or dirty water.

After suppressing her initial urge to scream hysterically, she methodically hexed a circle around herself, until one of them connected with a _protego_. The overall effect was that James Potter's invisibility cloak flew off to pool in a silvery mass at his feet, leaving him groping for it while Sirius Black booked it for the castle.

He was sporting a massive grin, cheeks pink from suppressed laughter, and as he took in Lily's sodden and furious expression, he was unable to contain it any further, and broke down in to gut-wrenching chuckles.

"I find nothing amusing, about this, Potter," Lily spat icily, attempting to give him a warning, and as he picked himself up, wiping his eyes and tucking the cloak in his pocket, she contemplated his punishment.

James winced at her expression. He expected the usual—furious words, evil glares, and nasty hexes. The typical response to a fairly harmless but ridiculously annoying prank; the sort of prank he pulled every day. Lily continued staring at him, contemplating these very options, but suddenly felt bored with it all. She really wasn't injured (unless you counted her dignity, which, to be honest, Lily was counting less and less these days) and it _was _a fairly funny prank. If Frank or Alice or one of her close friends had done it, well, she probably would just jump on them and give them a hug, thereby spreading the muddy love.

So it was that with a nefarious glint in her eye she squealed "Give me a hug!" And jumped on James, firmly wrapping her soaking self around him so that every curve of their bodies was pressed together.

And there it was—right then, when she turned her chin up, eyes questioning, looking hopefully for an expression full of rage. Instead, she was greeted with hazel eyes snapping with amusement, and found, quite suddenly and inexplicably, that she couldn't breathe.

James Potter was looking at her, eyeing the mud coating her hair and dripping unattractively down her face in large globs. But the anticipated disgust was strangely absent from his face, and Lily found her own gaze drawn to his eyes, the central focus of every interaction between them.

They were such a beautiful color, almost hypnotic in their golden-flecked hazel, and she let herself fall in to them, if only briefly. They had a kindness in them that she suspected he worked hard to suppress, a sort of depth that wasn't normally found in a fourteen-year-old boy. Lily could see that he appreciated her as more than a skinny, gawky adolescent; that he saw something beneath the surface that she couldn't quite see yet, herself.

It was probably this knowledge, knowledge that she wasn't yet equipped to deal with, that caused her to jerk away that day. She shoved him off her, eyes suddenly snapping with anger.

"Go to hell, Potter! And if you ever try and throw mud on me again, your hair will be purple for a week."

But it was too late. They were empty threats, and they both knew it. Because James Potter had stared into her soul, and he had seen her for what she really was.

"You're a fraud, Lily Evans," he said softly under his breath as she turned to stomp away.

His hair was purple for three days, in the end, but the memory of Lily's bright face, full of humor and compassion and something else uniquely Lily, remained for much longer.

0000

"Quite the contrary, Evans. I'm up for a challenge _anytime_."

She gulped.

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	6. congenial

A/N: Ugh, this is one of my favorite chapters, you luckies. Here ya go.

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**congenial**

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Funnily enough, it had all started with a dream. She had sat up in bed one morning, shoulders slumped and hands cupped, as if in an attempt to catch the fleeting thought before it seeped away. But the fragments had poured through her fingertips, sliding around her barriers, and all she was left with was the vague sensation of _someone_.

And, well, it wouldn't really have been important, except for the fact that Lily Evans didn't dream. She either lay awake, worrying about her friends and family and schoolwork, turning and tossing until she finally drifted in to an uneasy slumber, or she collapsed on to her bed in a state of utter exhaustion, sleeping deeply and dreamlessly until her alarm unceremoniously roused her the next morning.

The only other dream she had ever had, actually, was when she was eleven. It was frightening and exciting, full of hope and fear, unexplored mysteries and unknown dangers.

She had just received her Hogwarts letter.

And now it was seventh year, and she was Head Girl, and her shoulders were curved in defeat as the second dream that she could ever remember having had abruptly escaped her grasp.

She stretched leisurely—it was a Saturday, after all—and contemplated going back to sleep and trying to ride the tendrils of the emotion back in to dreamland. Yet, suffused with contentment and languor as she was, she felt rested and awake, and so experimentally poked her toes in to the thick, plush carpet covering the floor.

It was reassuringly warm, and so she decided it was safe to exit the cozy four-poster haven that was her bed.

The day drifted by. She spent a significant chunk of time wandering idly around the lake, contemplating her curious state of happiness and not doing nearly enough homework.

Lily was walking back from the lake to the castle when she saw him leaving the Quidditch pitch, broom slung casually over his shoulder. Inexplicably, her heart did a double-thump in her chest, and leapt in to her throat.

She slowed her pace and finally stopped altogether, giving him a slight wave to indicate that it was, in fact, him, that she was waiting for. She noticed how he hastily scrubbed his sleeve over his face, running his hands through windblown hair in a desperate attempt to smooth it down. His posture became noticeably straighter, and he adopted a swagger. Another moment, and he was apparently re-thinking everything, slightly bowing his shoulders again and walking in a cool, unconcerned way.

"Oh, hey," he said as he approached, raising his eyebrows.

Lily burst in to laughter. "Hey Potter, how's it going?"

"Just doing some good old-fashioned procrastinating. You?"

"Pretty much the same." Lily opened her arms, tilting her head up. "It's just such a nice day, I couldn't even think about staying inside to study."

He hefted his broom, and gave her a quizzical look. She had the distinct feeling that he was sizing her up. "Fancy a whirl around the pitch?" He asked finally, in a tone that said he very much doubted she would acquiesce.

And Lily felt herself falling in a way that had nothing and everything to do with actually hitting the ground. "I thought you'd never ask."

"And I thought you'd never say yes," he quipped, tossing her unceremoniously on to the broom as he leaped on in front of her with ease.

It was a warm afternoon for October, and the breeze that caressed her face as they flew around the pitch was welcome. She found herself tentatively wrapping her arms around his waist, and throwing her head back as they leisurely flew, enjoying the feeling of the wind in her hair.

James' neck turned steadily pinker as her hold grew more firm, she noticed absently, and found herself enjoying the odd feeling of power.

Recently, she'd found herself remembering his old crush on her more and more often, as they spent time together, working on Head's projects and occasionally indulging in a conversation.

"I've never told anyone this," she leaned forward, whispering in his ear above the rushing of the wind, realizing she was flirting and not caring a bit. "But I used to be afraid of heights. That's why I never tried to play Quidditch."

James laughed, turning a bit so that he could catch her eyes incredulously. "Lily Evans, afraid? Impossible."

"We can't all be as fearless as James Potter," she responded, and they were silent for a while, Lily digesting the easy amiability of the exchange, James steering.

Suddenly, he pulled them in to a steep vertical dive, hurtling them toward the ground with shocking speed. Lily felt her stomach flop over, and momentarily swallowed the urge to simultaneously scream and vomit.

And then, in a gesture that surprised both herself and James (who had of course been deliberately trying to elicit some sort of girly terrified reaction) she tossed back her head, letting her hair stream behind them, and laughed. It was a full, throaty, carefree sort of laugh, the kind that only someone completely comfortable and uncaring would be able to give.

And as James eased them out of their dive, their toes skimming the soft green grass, Lily realized that not for one second had she ever doubted her safety.

He turned again to look at her when they were flying horizontally again, his eyes sparkling mischievously and his expression a mixture of guilt and amusement.

"If I were still afraid of heights, your eardrums would most likely have burst," Lily informed him mock-sternly.

"I'm disappointed—not even a squeal?"

"Oh shut up," she laughed, hitting his shoulder, and then leaned fully against him, head on his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his waist.

She felt him tense, and then relax, as they soared in silence for a while. Finally, she felt him pulling up, heading toward the ground.

Sad it was over, she regretfully climbed off. "That was really fun."

He smiled at her. "Maybe next time, I'll let you steer," he promised.

Abruptly, the disappointment she'd felt upon the conclusion disappeared, as the array of future possibilities opened before her. James casually shouldered his broom, and they fell in to step with each other toward the castle, Lily smiling broadly.

"What have you got going on this afternoon?" She asked him casually, as they slowed to a leisurely pace.

"Mostly that Charms essay," he groaned, making a face. "I think I have a little of the Transfiguration left but I'm really not that worried about it… Charms is what gets me."

"Complete opposite," Lily moaned. "Wish I could Transfigure a bit better, honestly."

"I thought you were supposed to be a Potions whiz," James teased. "What with Slug's obsession with you and all."

She blushed. "Slughorn is very…friendly."

He barked a laugh. "You can say that again! Wish he'd invite me to one of his parties!"

"They're really boring, actually. But you can always come if you like, Black is usually there, and we're allowed to bring dates," Lily mused, not realizing how much like an invitation that sounded until she saw him looking at her curiously. "He could bring you as his date, that is," she clarified, blushing and turning her face away from his. She thought she saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.

"So I heard a rumor you want to be an Auror, s'that true?"

"I mean, with things as they are…" She trailed off. Everyone knew what "things" were like right now.

"And if they weren't?" James asked intently, and Lily felt oddly warm. Very few people thought to ask what she actually wanted to be, if circumstances hadn't demanded otherwise. "If you could do whatever you wanted, anything in the whole world?"

"Anything in the world?" She laughed. "Well, I want to write a muggle book. A novel. Maybe a book of fairytales. And I want to be a Healer. Even when I was little, I wanted to be a—well, a muggle sort of Healer."

"Ah, a dok-tore," James said, nodding sagely. "Yes, I can see that."

"And you?"

He stuffed one of his hands in his pocket, keeping the other on the broom. "Well, this sounds stupid," he began, casting her a look out of the corner of his eye. "I mean, I do want to be an Auror, but, like, Pad—Sirius and I used to talk about starting up companies. Nothing serious, you know, just boyish dreams, but we always worked well together."

They shared a smile, remembering the multitude of pranks that they had masterminded.

"You know, I used to think Lupin was the brains," Lily said.

"Really?" James looked like he thought that was funny. "Nah, Remus is kind of the cautious one. He edits, occasionally, but usually he's too busy foreseeing disaster and trying to talk us out of it. He would never willingly—well, rarely—" he amended, smirking at the memories of a few epic Remus brainchildren, "would he willing suggest a prank."

"What would he try and talk you out of? Really, you can't be too scared of detention anymore."

James shrugged. "Oh, you know, just stuff."

"So what would your company do?" Lily asked after a moment of silence, realizing that he was not going to elaborate.

"Probably brooms," he said. "I'd love to manage a Quidditch team someday, or maybe coach or something. Sirius, you know," he eyed her suspiciously, trying to judge whether she would believe him or laugh, "I think he has an artist's soul."

Lily raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"There's—we talked about it once. There's a muggle word for it, someone who likes math and likes to create new things. Sirius is kind of like that. He likes Arithmancy, mechanics, understanding stuff, making things, figuring out solutions."

"Like an engineer?" Lily asked curiously, and James nodded. "You know…I always wondered who created all those pulley systems, to balance the multitude of buckets full of various substances that spilled on countless students and teachers…"

James barked a laugh. "Sirius did the physical stuff, I did the magical physicality—Transfiguring, Potions stuff, that sort of thing, and Remus did the charm chains."

"Pettigrew?"

"The diversion." They both snorted. "No, but actually. He would always be the bait," James insisted earnestly, and they had a good chuckle.

"I think I could probably be a better Potions-maker than you," Lily mused.

James gave her a sidelong glance. "You angling for admission in to the Marauders? It's a very exclusive club."

"You still call yourselves that?" Lily laughed, shaking her head. "I'll pass. Although, with a name as cool as the Marauders, it's tempting…"

"It would be too hard," James agreed. "Besides, you don't even have a nickname."

Lily swallowed the desire to switch directions and begin interrogating him voraciously on the subject of nicknames. They were approaching the castle, and she had no desire to end the pleasant conversation with an inquisition.

He paused outside of the door, and gave her an assessing look. "You're actually interested in the Marauders?"

Lily laughed self-consciously. "Well, not actually in _joining_. Just, I don't know…" She trailed off, feeling really embarrassed, unbelieving that she was about to say these words, to a boy no less, to a boy named James Potter, who, a year ago, she couldn't stand to be in the same room as. "It's interesting to learn. About you. You know, since, obviously, they've been a big part of your life. Maybe a bigger influence on you than, for example, my friends were on me. So it's a fascinating comparison…"

To her utter amazement, James tossed back his head and laughed. "Lily Evans," he said when he had regained his composure, "do you have a rational reason for _everything_you do?"

A year ago today and she would have glared at him, finding the comment incredibly insulting, and stormed away, vowing to never speak to him again. A year ago today, she would have felt a sick feeling in her stomach as she walked to her room alone, feeling the anger and hatred boiling over.

It was a mark of how things had changed that, instead of anger, she found a quiet amusement, and a mock offense. "James Potter," she responded, quirking an eyebrow, "you would find the humor in a funeral."

They walked to the tower together, James laughing to himself.

Reaching the common room, Lily realized the only feeling in her stomach was a curious sense of sadness at parting ways.

James apparently felt the same way. "Hey," he said. "You want to see something cool?"

"That depends. Is it something you think is cool, or something that I would actually find cool?"

He pulled a piece of worn-looking parchment out of the back pocket of his jeans.

"This," he promised, "will make you cry with wonder."

He tapped the battered parchment with his wand.

"_I solemnly swear I am up to no good…"_

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Review please!


	7. curiosity

A/N: Yay! I'm back and lots of updates! The rest of this story is completed on my harddrive, so I promise this will be steadily updated and completed. Funny though, how what was originally a one-shot always manages to extend itself to an eleven or twelve chapter extravaganza. Check out my Draco/Hermione stuff, I'm going to be updating that as well this coming week.

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**curiosity**

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It wasn't like it was special, even though, looking back, it definitely was.

"So you're in Gryffindor too?" A black haired boy, who looked distinctly eleven years old, stood beside her desk. Lily wondered if she should offer her hand.

"Lily Evans," she settled on, nodding and kind of smiling. All the first years were early for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the first class that they would have at Hogwarts.

Lily had chosen a seat in the middle row, towards the left of the classroom, with calculating precision. She didn't quite want to be known as a kid who sat in the back, but neither was she the know-it-all who sat in the front and middle. One of her roommates, Alice, sat beside her on her left, close to the window, and apparently this boy was going to sit on her right.

"James Potter," he said, and flashed her a grin which he clearly thought was winning. Lily resisted the temptation to raise one eyebrow, as an eleven year old's version of a "winning" smile revealed the telltale gap of a still-missing baby tooth, and a few other gaps besides. Hadn't wizards ever heard or braces?

She was about to ask where he was from when another boy came up to him. She recognized this one—already, he looked older than the rest, and his face carried the beginning of an angular handsomeness. Currently, though, he just looked tired and a little lost. His last name was Black, and the great hall had erupted in to whispers and hisses when he had been sorted in to Gryffindor.

"Hey," James greeted the other boy, motioning the seat next to Lily, and taking the one next to that for himself. "How's it going?"

Black frowned. "S'alright," he said guardedly, and Lily got the distinct feeling he was sizing James up. Surprisingly, James didn't react like your everyday adolescent. Instead, he held still under the scrutiny, meeting Black's eyes with a comparable quiet reserve.

Then he laughed, an easygoing, good-natured sound, and smiled crookedly. "So, do you think tack on the Professor's chair is too standard for first day prank?"

He would always be like this—even at his most serious, his humor was underlying. It was something that would endlessly frustrate her and boggle her, and ultimately be the only thing that kept her sane.

Sirius removed his hand from his bag, holding a viciously sharp-looking tack. "Not at all…" He murmured, baring his teeth, and Lily found herself torn between the urge to laugh or to leave the classroom so as not to be implicated in their scheme.

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"Do you remember the first time we met?" Lily was so caught in the memory that she didn't realize she blurted it out until James's stare became awkwardly prolonged.

"What?"

She blushed, knowing it would be the deep maroon kind that made her look like a giant tomato with aggressively orange roots. "Um, I mean, now that we're seventh years," she backpedaled aggressively, "and we're speaking, I was just kind of wondering—whether we have sort of a—like, nostalgically, I've been reliving first year with some of…"

"Yeah, why? Still think I'm hot?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"Um, no. So, obviously you don't remember how—"

"How you almost earned a spot in the Marauders?" ("I still don't understand why you call yourselves that," Lily muttered to herself.) "Lily Evans," James said, chastisingly. "I remember _every_ second."

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Later, (much later), he would whisper to her that he had loved her since that moment—since that moment that she watched in morbid fascination as the boys carefully executed their prank, and returned to sit angelically at their seats.

Their Professor was an older, portly woman, who waddled more than she walked. When she finally entered the room, Lily found herself swallowing a grin. There really wasn't a more perfect victim for the childish prank.

James wriggled with anticipation as she introduced herself as Professor Partridge and wrote some assigned reading and questions on the board. Finally, she gravitated towards her desk, clearly intending to sit while the class read and took notes.

James leaned forward as Professor Partridge lowered herself in to the chair. The pin punctured the woman's portly behind and she jumped a foot in the air, screaming bloody murder.

"There are spells," Professor Partridge said, standing, removing the pin excruciatingly slowly. "Spells to relive the past, to determine guilt—to elucidate _criminals_ from _suspects_."

"Excuse me, Professor?" Lily's hand was in the air, and both James and Black slowly turned to glare at her with eyes that spoke of the many deathly things that could be performed upon her person.

"Yes, Ms. Evans. Have you something to confess?"

"Actually, a pin—like that one—has come loose from my desk, and I pricked myself on it," Lily held up a bloody finger that she had just manufactured, "and," she willed herself to look pale (easy) with a greenish tint (slightly harder) "it's a bit rusty, and I haven't had my tetanus vaccine, so I was wondering if the hospital wing—"

Professor Partridge's face suddenly also took on a greenish cast as she peered more closely at the pin that had been responsible for her discomfort. "Class dismissed for today!" She snapped. "Ms. Evans, I will accompany you to the hospital wing."

Lily did not glance at James as they exited the room, but she felt his smile follow her.

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"_Every_ second?" Lily laughed, when the moment had passed. "That's a bold claim."

James shrugged. "Can't argue with the facts." They were sitting in the common room, chatting idly and pretending to do homework, and his shrug and mischievous grin caused her to snort, head tipping forward and hair falling in her face.

It was still new, this easy congeniality with James, the calm allocation of Prefect patrols and the idle chatter that followed. She didn't normally waste time itemizing and categorizing friendships and relationships, (of all the things there were to categorize, she usually didn't make it to these,) but with James she occasionally tried to decide, when it had been over the past year that things had all changed. But now she found she could no longer remember, when her animosity had evaporated and left only—tenderness?—in its place.

"Evans," James's voice was husky and warm, carrying a suggestive undertone that Lily had never noticed before.

"What?"

"What are you thinking about? I keep losing you mid-sentence. Where are you going?"

"Nowhere—nothing. I'm just…Something's just getting on my nerves, that's all."

"Something, or someone?"

Was that hope she heard in his voice? Lily scowled at him. "What kind of question is that," she muttered, not really asking a question, hoping to end the conversation.

"Do I make you crazy?" Of course he hit exactly the right note. _James. _With his mixture of joviality and uncaring, carefully infusing the question with that delicate balance, granting him the ability to play it off as a joke, or abruptly amp the seriousness depending on her response.

"No, stop," Lily said uselessly, shaking her head as if warding off a bad feeling. She was tired and confused, she needed to do her homework, and she was in no mood for James's frustrating style of almost-flirting. "No, James, I—"

"James?"

Lily flushed. "Er, Potter, uh…" Her stammer trailed off as she felt cool fingers beneath her chin.

"Look at me, Lily." And then James's hand was on her face, trailing, trickling, the adrenaline of contact leaving a trail of fire as her entire body burned, the coolness of his fingers evaporating in the explosion of heat across her face, leaving her mind blank. James's hand was tracing her face, curling underneath her chin to bring her face up, eyes dragging from the floor to meet his.

Lily looked into the warmest pair of hazel eyes she would ever see, and knew that fighting was useless.

James's face was close—too close—much, much too close. James's hand moved to the base of her neck, playing with the small curl there that refused to grow out, that ruined every sleek ponytail by shaggily hanging out. She hated that curl, just as she hated this feeling. She hated the feeling of being control, of succumbing to another, the idea of the loss of power that entailed any relationship. She had deliberately restrained herself in this friendship; had enjoyed the slow descent into flirting without noticing the accompanying sacrifices, and now suddenly it was all crashing down around her ears.

She pushed him away, shut her eyes to close out his, turned her face away. "What are you doing?" She asked him, but what she was really asking herself was _why is this so complicated?_ "Potter, what is this?"

He was still looking at her, but his face had taken on such a different tone.

"You know, I used to hate you," Lily told him. "So much. And I can't remember why." He shrugged, and a whirl of anger briefly encompassed her brain. "No, you don't get it. It's not _nothing_. Things between people don't change that quickly—people can't change that quickly. I _hated_ you, and you can't just start acting like that entire chapter of our lives, like that never happened. All those times you teased me, made me cry (you know you never apologized for any of that, by the way,) they don't just evaporate. Stuff like that stays between people, alters them, changes the way they interact." She took a breath, knowing that she was overreacting but feeling powerless to stop the outpour.

James was silent for a while, and when he finally spoke, it was not the type of response she had anticipated. It was simple, almost tangential but relevant enough to not exclude it—James.

"I want to hate you," James said. "I want to, I've wanted to for so long."

Anger flared in her again, and she stood up from the chair, shedding parchment and a quill as she began gathering her things. "Great," she snapped over her shoulder, walking towards her dormitory. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Ah, Lily Evans," he muttered to the near-empty common room, after she had ascended the stairs. "I would need a lot more than luck for that to ever occur."

She could never figure out whether he'd intended for her to hear it or not, because of course she was listening right at the top of the staircase, wondering what he would do.

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"You know you didn't have to do that," Black told her, almost aggressively, an eleven-year old attempting to assert masculinity.

"I know," Lily replied calmly, more interested in finding a seat in the crowded common room than where this conversation was going.

"Hey, Lily!" Someone called, and she saw a brunette waving to her near the fire, with an empty chair. Julia, she thought that sounded right.

"So, why did you, then?" Black demanded.

Lily was confused, trying to push past him to get to Julia. "What?"

"Why did you cover for us?"

"I—what? I didn't."

"You cut your finger." James appeared to stand next to Black, smirking in what would eventually be his "trademark" smile. "For us. I think I'd like to marry you."

Lily frowned at him. "No, I actually cut my finger on those desks, they're very poorly made."

"Look, we didn't _need_ your help!" Black snapped.

"I _know_," Lily replied snippily. "I wasn't _trying_ to help you."

"Want to go out with me?" James asked.

"No!" Lily cried. "I want to go sit down, and do my homework, and not be grouped with the troublemakers on my first day of school!"

James looked offended, but Black just smiled, turning to the other boy. "See, told you she was a prick," he said smugly.

Lily shook her head, wondering why on earth she _had_ done it.

"There's not an answer to everything," James said, smiling, reading her mind in a disconcerting way that he would forever after possess. She peered at him. That smile looked somehow familiar, as did the way he looked at her, as if he had seen her before. As if he knew her. He looked at her the way you would look at a brother or a sister, with that penetrating gaze indicating a thorough knowledge of someone else's soul.

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"Sirius may never forgive you for that, by the by," James informed her, walking up beside her as they exited Potions.

"Excuse me?"

"That time in first year—Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Lily was disoriented. "You mean, what I was asking you about last night?"

"When we sort of first met," James said. "When you covered for us."

"How was I supposed to understand that reference today, the morning after, when really I only obliquely alluded to it last night?"

James shrugged, easily keeping pace with her, as his legs seemed to almost glide over the smoothly cobbled stones. "You always understand what I say."

"Only because you always say exactly what I'm thinking," Lily retorted.

"Can't help it, Evans—you're just an open book."

"I'm absolutely not! No one has ever been able to guess how I'm feeling."

James smirked. "Except me."

"Why are you being nice again?" Lily demanded. "I was rude to you last night."

James grabbed her hands, twirling her around in the middle of the hallway, and then keeping a grip on her hand, swinging it with every step. "Because we're friends," he said cheerfully. "And that's what friends do, Ms. Evans. They _forgive_."

Lily couldn't help it; James was contagious. She laughed at his ridiculousness, and slipped her hand out of his grip, shoving his back. "Go do something wicked with your friends, Potter, I've left my quill in Potions."

"Liar!" He called to her back, but she heard the smile in his voice, and flashed him a grin over her shoulder.

"Would you bet the house on it?"

He grabbed at his chest, making as if to kneel. "I'd bet my heart!" Lily shook her head, turning away and walking towards the classroom once more. When she was sure he was gone, she stopped, running a hand through her hair in a motion that unconsciously mimicked his.

"Who are you, James Potter?" Lily whispered.

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"Someone who likes you," James said, sliding once more in to the seat beside her.

"No, that's not what I asked. Why are you sitting next to me again, after Black made it pretty clear that you two thought I was a prick?" Lily asked, trying to prepare for their _real_ first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

"I _told_ you," James said in his already-infuriating way. "There's not an answer to everything, Evans."


	8. passion

A/N: woo, exciting chapter! Please, shameless review-begging. I didn't get any on the last chapter and I was so sad! Let me know if you like it at all! Love you all.

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**passion**

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"I just—ugh, I just don't understand!" Lily cried, scooting her chair even closer to the fire. She and James were sitting in the mercifully empty Gryffindor common room, going over their Transfiguration homework.

"If you move that thing any closer, your leg will catch on fire," James observed.

"Look," Lily moaned. "I'm _freezing,_ okay? Am I crazy? It really is cold, right?"

"I mean, it's cold, but honestly, Evans, it's not _that_ cold."

"You know perfectly well that it is that cold," Lily snapped. "Now stop being an idiot and help me solve this problem." But no matter how long she looked at it, it still wouldn't make any sense. So she just kept sitting there, shivering and teeth-chattering and not understanding.

"How's your week been?" James asked to fill the silence, when it became clear the Lily was making no headway.

"Full of work and snow," she sighed, eyeing him, and he felt the familiar stomach flip, as he had every time she ever looked at him with those luminous, liquid eyes. "You?"

He was silent a minute, digesting the newfound realization that, very possibly, he would never be able to feel any differently about Lily Evans.

"Potter?" She prodded.

"Oh, um, it was alright. We turned in the Potions essay on Monday, right?"

"You've forgotten already?"

"No, I'm just trying to decide which was worse, Sunday night or Tuesday night…" He hummed absently to himself. "Definitely Tuesday…I was up so late…"

Lily shook her head. "I don't know how you do it. I couldn't make it past midnight if the world were about to end."

James didn't immediately reply, and Lily realized that a comment like that no longer had quite the lurid, unbelievable feel that it would have carried three years ago. As in, the world ending (at least as they knew it) was now perhaps insufficient in magnitude to convey the same depth of sentiment.

"I'm sure you would be able to," James said, an unexpected detour in to serious territory, and Lily shivered again, turning back to her Transfiguration problem.

"I can't do this anymore," she finally declared, standing up and gathering her robe, scarf and mittens. "I've got to get out of here."

"About time," James replied, standing and stretching his arms up, sighing at the multitude of popping joints. "Where do you want to go?"

"Let's go for a walk outside," Lily declared, watching sort of idly as his jumper, which had been pulled up slightly by his stretching motion, settled on his waist, leaving a few inches of flesh exposed.

"Are you sure? Didn't you just spend the last hour complaining about how freezing you were?" James reached around to grab his cloak as well, absentmindedly tugging his shirt down as if he'd only just noticed it had been dislodged.

"Whatever, walking will warm me. I'm just ready to get out of here."

"Your choice," James said, with a sort of tired, parental acquiescence that made Lily want to slap him.

They were walking along the lake in silence, Lily still chilly. There was no tension between them, just an amicable sense of "togetherness." Absolutely nothing to merit James' actions, but then, when did James ever do anything for a reason?

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"_You know, I thought you had _changed_!" It erupted from her before she could stop it. "I thought you were different. But you haven't. You're the same as last year, and the year before. Always the same, always the bully. Always the immature, adolescent boy, with his cronies, who thinks that torturing people weaker than he is—that torturing them is somehow good fun." _

"_I _want_ to hate you," James said. "I want to, I've wanted to for so long." _

"_Great," she snapped. "I wish you the best of luck_."

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Lily felt, rather than saw, as he momentarily dropped back. She was about to turn around and ask him what he was doing when she was drenched with the equivalent of a bucket-full of icy water.

"POTTER!" She gave a blood-curdling scream, whipping around, and the only thing on her mind was death—his.

He was standing on the edge of the lake, pocketing his wand, laughing hysterically as only James Potter could. In any other situation, this laughter would have softened her, wheedling her down until it was all she could do not to join.

In any other situation, she would have paused to admire the way his smile made his eyes scrunch and twinkle, how the way he tipped his head back accentuated his strong jaw and curving throat. Her eyes might have traveled down the hard lines of the figure he cut, robes whipping in the wind, and remembered the toned stomach she had observed on more than one occasion.

Lily could have gazed in to those eyes; those bottomless, breathtaking hazel eyes that absorbed her, consumed her, obsessed her and confused her, and found herself lost in their depths. (As she had a million times before.)

Her thoughts could have wandered and drifted as the space between them became fluid, the air currents separating them washing over her as she imagined she could smell him, breathe him, feel the vibrations created by his laughter.

But this was different.

"I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU!" She shrieked, and meant it with every word. Instinct took over as she ran at him, fully intending to slap him in the face.

"Lily," James began, laughing, but never finished.

Marching up to him, she shoved him hard in the chest, drawing her hand back for the blow.

He caught her hand, and she managed to gasp out an "Unbelievable!" as she swung the other. He caught that too, and easily deflected her pitiful attempt to kick his shin.

And before she knew exactly what was happening, they were far too close. James' hands still held her wrists in a vice-like grip, but her wriggling attempts at escape had only served to wedge her more firmly in between his arms.

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_He seemed to collapse a little bit inside, and a piece of her heart went out to him, standing there, looking so utterly pitiful. _

"_Just go to hell," he said, turning away. _

"_Who are you, James Potter?" Lily whispered, but the hallway was empty. _

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Her face heated as she realized her body was flush against his, and she abruptly became aware of all their points of contact. She could feel his thighs pressing against her, his belt digging in to her stomach, his hard, lean chest crushing her breasts.

"Lily," he said again, in quite a different tone.

And, knowing exactly what she was doing, and exactly what it would mean, Lily turned her face up for his kiss.

He bent down, his eyes glazed like a sleepwalker, and pressed his lips softly to hers. She felt her eyelids flutter, her fingers flexing emptily in hands that still held her wrists. His lips moved against hers, and she tilted her head back, trying to draw him closer, when, abruptly, James wrenched himself away with a curse, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his face pained.

"Merlin, Evans, I didn't—" He stopped, sneaking a look at her. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

She blinked, looking at him, surprised and touched and flabbergasted.

_And so here we are_, Lily thought, and it seemed as if there was a line drawn on the grass, with her on one side, and James on the other. Her cheeks heated up as the scene played over in her mind, and she began to re-evaluate her actions.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She snapped, and felt anger rising in her chest, obliterating all other emotion. Anger was familiar and easy, and she embraced it, allowing it to momentarily cocoon her.

"It means—what, it means, you don't want to date me, you just want to have your fun with me, well, whatever!" James cried, suddenly angry too. "It means I can't do that."

"Can't do what?" She demanded, and felt something dangerously similar to tears pressing against her sinuses.

James shook his head angrily. "I can't play your games anymore, Evans," he said coldly. "Don't know what you're on about."

"Oh so that's what you think this is about?" Lily shouted hoarsely. "You think I'm playing _games_? Well I have some news for you, Potter. Why don't you take that giant stick out of your ass and take a look around you, and then tell me again that I'm playing _games_."

She spat the last word out like it left a bad taste in her mouth, and then turned heel and stormed up to the castle, leaving James standing alone by the lake.

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_James took a step forward. "Do I make you crazy?" He asked, voice deepening, lengthening to an almost caressing volume. _

"_No, stop," Lily said uselessly, trying to push his hand away. "No, James, I—"_

"_James?" _

_Lily flushed. "Er, Potter, uh…" Her stammer trailed off as she felt cool fingers beneath her chin. _

"_Look at me, Lily." _

_She did. _

_Lily looked into the warmest pair of hazel eyes she would ever see, and knew that fighting was useless. _

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"Lily."

His voice stopped her as she was leaving the Potions classroom, bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, hair in disarray. It was strange to hear her name on his tongue, after it had been "Evans" for so long. "Potter?" She said coolly, pausing to the side of the door, students filing out beside them.

"Can we take a walk?"

Lily shrugged. She had successfully avoided him for an entire week. But now it was their last class of the day, so she didn't really have a plausible excuse. "Alright."

They walked in silence through the dungeons and onto the grounds, keeping the tense atmosphere between them until they'd reached the lake.

James finally spoke. "What did you mean," he said carefully, "that day. When you told me to look around?"

"Look," Lily turned around, "I really don't want to have this discussion again." She felt her cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment and frustration.

"Stop talking in riddles!"

"Why did you invite me out here if you were just going to yell at me?" Lily demanded, her voice high.

"Because, Lily Evans," James burst out, and Lily realized belatedly that he was just as red as she, "you drive me wild!"

"That's because you're _mad_ James Potter!" She shrieked, and she felt drunk and dizzy and maybe a little bit mad herself. "You're mad, you're insane, and you drive _me_ mad and you make me feel _insane_, and I can't decide how I feel or what I want or what _you_ want—"

And suddenly, she was in his arms again, and his lips hovered above her own.

"This is what I want," he whispered. "I want _you_." And while the drunk feeling disappeared, to leave her feeling the moment with utter clarity, the dizziness had only intensified and she felt as if everything in her life was blurring together just for this.

That was where the moment left them, locked in an embrace. She felt his warm breath on her lips.

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"_Evans_," _James's voice—husky, warm, suggestive. _

_James's hand—trailing, trickling, the adrenaline of contact leaving a trail of fire as her entire body burned. James's hand tracing her face, curling underneath her chin. Tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, framing her jaw. _

_James's face, close—too close—much, much too close. James's hand at the base of her neck, playing with the small curl there that refused to grow out, that ruined every sleek ponytail by shaggily hanging out. James. _

_She was trembling, edgy, unsure of what she herself wanted, tortured. The craze of desire mixed with the torment of friendship—warring factions coming together, framing a non-issue but somehow creating something mountainous out of a concept originally so simple. _

_Lily let out a breath._

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And so she slipped her arms around his neck, and pulled his face down to hers.

And this time, when his lips met hers, he didn't shy away. She felt his mouth move against hers as he pulled her closer crushing him against her until the world was spinning again and the lake had blended with the sky. She broke their kiss to gasp for air, laughing, and then wrenched his collar and pulled him to the ground, regardless of the ice and snow and cold.

He broke her fall, cradling her in his arms as she snuggled into his cloak, running her fingers over his stubble.

"You look nice with some five o'clock shadow."

In response, he kissed her again, rolling her into the snow so that he could prop himself up on his elbows, gazing down with a look of incredible softness that made her stomach turn over.

The snow was beginning to melt against her back, but Lily was so far beyond caring. She felt warm hands slip inside her shirt, warm hands everywhere, covering her, and she closed her eyes, letting herself fall into sensation, succumbing to James, to his passion and warmth. And as talented fingers pushed up her skirt, and the barriers between them steadily lessened, she merely sighed, and smiled, and reached up to pull him closer.

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**review? **


	9. something

_A/N: Please review and let me know what you think! Reviewers are adored. _

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**something**

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Lily was a witch with a mission. She marched up the stairs to the boy's common room, angrily scrubbing her eyes as she tried to decide whether the tears were tears of anger, sadness, frustration, confusion, or all of the above.

She thought back on the scene she had just witnessed, suppressing, to her utter shock, what seemed to be a hiccupping sob.

"Frank!" Alice had shrieked, catapulting herself from the Gryffindor table in to his arms so quickly that Lily wondered for a moment if she had apparated. "Frank," she had whispered, and collapsed in to his arms. "You're alright," she said, and then truly began to cry.

He had just walked in to the great hall, early on a Tuesday morning, looking tired and slightly worn, but very much alive. Lily knew Alice had been worried—Frank had been doing some work for the Order lately, and his missions became vaguer and vaguer, but she'd had no idea he was going to come visit.

Not wanting to interrupt, she eased herself out of her seat, intending to slip out of the hall. As she neared the door, however, she couldn't resist watching the couple for one more moment.

"I'll always come back to you," Frank was whispering to Alice, kissing away her tears. "I love you more than life itself, Allie."

And Alice, the sensible, solid, down-to-earth Alice who was Lily's best friend, the Alice who snorted at cheesy sentiments like the above and laughed outright at lovey-dovey poetry, that Alice merely sighed and pulled Frank down for a long, deep, completely inappropriate kiss.

Lily had felt sick to her stomach, and immediately left. Part of it, she knew, was from witnessing such an intimate, private moment, and all those displays of affection were dreadfully cheesy, anyways.

But as she stomped up the stairs to the seventh year's room, she began to wonder if sometimes, maybe, a little cheesiness wasn't all bad.

"Where is he!?" She demanded of Remus Lupin, who drew back his head and blinked very quickly a few times, before mutely pointing to the bathroom, where Lily heard the sounds of a shower running and some bad singing.

"_Typical_," she growled under her breath, rolling her eyes, and beelined for the door, pushing it open with such force that it slammed against the opposite wall. "Potter!"

"Lily!" James yelped in surprise, jumping like a criminal, one foot still in the shower, one out, a towel hanging precariously low on his hips. His hair was dripping and wet, and beads of water clung to his eyelashes. "What are you doing here?"

And then before she could stop herself, before she even knew what she was thinking, it just slipped out. "Potter," she said, and kind of angrily too. "Why don't you love me?"

"I—" He looked at her, flabbergasted, and then burst in to laughter.

"It's not funny!" Lily protested, arms crossed, as he stepped completely out of the shower and closed the door. "It's really not," she said, even though it was.

"Not at all," James agreed congenially, smiling at her in that delicious, predatory way that always made her shiver with delight.

"Not even a little bit," she said, but she was whispering now, because he was barely an inch away. She tried to take a step back, to maintain her wits—this was a conversation she wanted to have—and realized that her back was already against the smooth tile of the bathroom wall. How had he already cornered her?

"The answer to that question," he whispered, his lips against her ear, sending chills up and down her spine with every word. "Is very simple."

"It is?" Lily gasped, as his hot lips found her neck. One of his hands went to the wall behind her head to stabilize them, and the the other caressed her back.

"Yes."

Silence reigned as he kissed her neck, hands trailing up and down her back, tracing forward over the curves of her hips and stomach, playing with the hem of her shirt. Yet every time his lips neared her own, and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction that came with his kiss, he would draw back, teasing, until she groaned with frustration and tugged his bare shoulders closer.

"You see," he murmured, when she had quite forgotten what she had come to talk about, anyways, "it's very simple because I do love you. I just hadn't quite figured out how to tell you, yet."

"What!?" Lily whipped her head away from his sneaky lips. "No, James, stop," she protested, finally managing to grab his face. "What did you just say?" She asked intently, looking him in the eyes.

He was silent, entranced by the twin emeralds winking back at him, liquid with a confused desperation.

"_Say it_."

"I love you," he said, and there it was. Lily sagged against the wall, a strange feeling in her chest, a sort of lightness, a relief of the tension she hadn't always been aware of.

She let out a long breath. "I think I love you, too."

Cool fingers sent fire through her chin as James tilted her head back to his. "I love you, Lily Evans," he said fiercely, as if it were suddenly very important that she understood this. "I've loved you for a long time, and I'm not ever going to stop."

Lily reached up to cup his face in her hands, a warm, funny feeling in her stomach. "I _love_ you," she said, tasting the words, enjoying the sound of them on her tongue.

And then, finally, she kissed him.

And then his arms were around her waist, and her mouth was crushed to his, and he was pulling her closer, _closer_, until she felt like they were no longer two entities, but one. It was nothing like she had imagined, expected, anticipated—and it was everything.

But seventh year was drawing to a close, and time was running out. People were dying and even as they kissed, Lily clung to him with a previously unknown desperation. He was her rock, her island in the sea of despair.

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"You're my color," she whispered to him, one night, near the end of the year. He had snuck in to her dormitory, and they were lying in her bed, their faces barely an inch apart.

"What?" He had been somewhere else, his eyes hazy and indistinct as he drifted somewhere she couldn't follow, lost in the limbo between sleep and dreams.

"Everything else is gray," she explained. "Except you. You're the color in my life."

He reached out, holding a strand of her obnoxious hair in between his fingers.

"And you, Lily Evans, aside from being the most amazing individual I've ever had the privilege to come across," she giggled, "are my fire." He was suddenly serious, an unusual occurrence for James Potter, the jokester. "You light my way."

She was drawn back that moment, so long ago, in the great hall, when she had scoffed at Alice's cheesiness.

How different it was now.

"Your eyes define me," he whispered, tilting her chin so that she was staring deeply in to his. She could look at his eyes for days—those twin pools of hazel that told her of eons of love, promising her kisses and tender touches for years to come.

He rolled, onto his back, scooting closer, pulling her on top of him. Her hair fell around their faces, curtaining them off from the small world of her bed, shutting out the red brocade four posters around them, the thick softness of her blankets. Their world was defined by each other, limited to their intersecting bodies, the way his hands were twined in hers.

"I love you," she whispered, relishing the way the words thrilled her to say, even now.

He pulled her down for a long kiss, rolling them over so that he was hovering over her, teasing her. Lily giggled delightedly, aware that these long, love-drunk Saturday nights would be memories that would remain with her forever.

They spent Sunday together, studying some but mostly blowing it off to walk around the lake and ride his broom in lazy circles around the pitch. The air was thick and hot, and this time, when James levitated a mass of water over her head, she laughed and splashed him, and their kiss was sticky and warm and filled with languor.

They played catch with the snitch she had so despised in fifth year, and lay together in the shade of the old beech tree by the lake.

Lily lay in his lap as he idly stroked her hair, and they spoke in sweet nothings and of inconsequential things, basking in the warmth of their love and trying to ignore the feeling of change that was hovering on the horizon.

"When I first met you," James said. "I loved you from that first moment."

"You remember it?" She asked, slowly, drawling out the syllables as he drew his fingers through her hair. It was longer than it had ever been before—and she admitted to herself, now, that it was because he had complimented her about it, so long ago. It hung around her face and shoulders, reaching past her shoulder blades, and it wasn't so bad.

"How could I forget?"

The hot hair blew across them gently in an unexpected trickle of breeze, mussing Lily's hair.

"You still look the same. When I look in your eyes," she murmured. "You haven't really changed that much."

"Am I still an arrogant, big-headed toe rag?" He teased, eyes twinkling.

Lily laughed softly, sitting up to brush her lips briefly over his. "Yes."

"If only I'd realized that you would be much more impressed if I just acted normally, instead of like a puffed up teenage boy…" James said wistfully, while Lily hummed in agreement and pleasure, watching a bee buzz around to his left.

"But then you wouldn't have been you."

"Did I really change?" He asked, curiously, settling himself more comfortably against the tree. The bee had moved away, and Lily slowly moved her eyes up to his, trailing them along his smooth chest and throat.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I think you grew up…but I did as well."

"Not too much, I hope," James grinned, and then he was disrupting the peace of the day, tickling her until she cried and pleaded, gasping for breath, lying sweaty and inert in the sweet-smelling grass.

Regaining her breath, she wriggled on to his chest, snuggling her chin in to the nook between his neck and shoulder. "There's this muggle story," she whispered, "a fairy tale. About a little boy named Peter Pan and a girl named Wendy. And Peter Pan never wanted to grow up, so he lived in Neverland, where he played all day with his band of boys and never did any work or chores. He was the little boy that never grew up," she laughed, nuzzling his neck. "You're my Peter Pan."

"I've heard that story before," James said, inspecting her fingers one by one. "But the way I've heard it told was that he brought Wendy to Neverland and they fell in love." He frowned. "But love was an adult emotion, and Wendy wanted to grow up, so she left, and Peter didn't follow, and missed her always. He lost her forever, because he didn't have the courage to follow her."

"But the difference is that I don't want to grow up," Lily told him. "I want to be young, like this, with you, in Neverland forever."

And with the sun shining around them, the long-forgotten breeze dead and gone, the two twined around each other even though it was far too hot to be touching, they could almost believe it would be so.

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**review?**


	10. formality

_A/N: Yay! Almost done now! Ah, I love this story!_

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**formality**

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James proposed to her in earnest after their second Potions exam ever, on which he did notably poorly.

"Lily Evans," he said with a flourish, after Slughorn had publicly humiliated her with repeated public congratulations on her marks, "if you marry me, we will make fabulously clever children who take after you, and dashingly handsome ones as well."

"Those ones will look strangely like me," Black interjected with a lewd wink in Lily's direction. "James need never know."

Lily sniffed haughtily, but in reality she was flattered. "Unfortunately, my hopes for you two were to breed you out of the gene pool rather than include you in it, so children are definitely out."

"You'll make lots of money," James assured her. "Surely you'll need a trophy husband for big Ministry events and suchlike." He smiled widely, in a way he clearly thought was charming. "I'm your man."

Remus snorted at that one, poking James in his puffed-out stomach as he walked by. "A man is something you're decidedly not."

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"Hey Evans," James said to her in second year, when saying hello was akin to a marriage proposal, and a date to the tantalizing idea of Hogsmeade next year signified a lifetime together.

Lily ignored him.

"Um, Evans," James persisted.

Lily persisted in ignoring him. She was working very hard on her Astronomy chart and it really wasn't making any sense to her at all, whatsoever.

"Evans, that's actually the wrong name. Wizards don't call it Orion's belt."

"Potter, what do you want?"

James smiled widely and tried to look mature. "Want to take a walk with me."

"What, now?"

"Yes, it's quite beautiful out. I didn't know if you'd noticed, since you've been buried in the library for the past year or so, but it's actually May now. That signifies nice things that people like, such as sunlight, warmth, light breezes, etc."

Lily eyed him distrustfully. "I know it's May," she said slowly, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"But do you? Do you really?"

She stood up, stretching and massaging the back of her neck. Warm, twelve year-old-hands pushed hers aside, thumbs pushing on a few choice knots and eliciting a brief sigh before she brushed him away. "Alright, alright Potter, I'll give you a walk."

"That," James laughed. "That, Lily Evans can concede upon."

It was the first time she'd ever thought of him as James, as they talked and laughed and she ignored the fact that they didn't really hang out, and this was weird, and all the numerous things running through her mind. He took her by the lake, and she would eventually realize that this was his favorite walk. They would walk the same path so many times that she felt they had worn a rut in the ground: the only memory of them remaining on the surface of the earth, an imprint of their footsteps.

"So you're really taking Divination?" She asked James wryly, realizing belatedly that she was practically teasing him.

He winked at her. "That's how I know you'll end up with me."

"Oh, is that so?"

He dropped onto one knee, then, and they were enough out of sight of people that there was no one she could look around frantically toward and make eye contact with as if to say "so this is weird."

"Marry me, Evans, right now. Why delay the inevitable? Say yes now and you'll only regret it for, say, five or six more years."

"What, do your divining skills extend only five years forward?"

"No," he replied, still on the ground. "The tea leaves just aren't that definite in terms of time period."

His face was so straight that for a moment Lily missed a beat, missed a breath, even, and gazed at his large unblinking eyes with a mixture of shock and a flush of fear that somehow equated to the strangest anticipation of her future that she could ever articulate. It was a moment that she'd soon forget, but the sensation would haunt her. "Potter, you are so very odd."

"Evans, my pearl, my sweet, I hope you know this isn't the end," he said as he stood up.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," she responded.

He opened his palm, revealing a small wring woven of grass that he must have knit while prostrating himself in front of her. He grabbed her hand so gently and surprisingly that Lily couldn't have stopped it if she'd tried; it would have been like kicking a puppy. He slipped it on to her ring finger (on the wrong hand) and grinned in what would eventually be called rakish and heart-throbbing, but was currently just a little bit lopsided.

He would grow out of this phase soon, they both knew. He would become a whiny teenage boy who hated girls, and was unknowingly cruel. He would loose this strange wisdom (she hoped), this odd sageness that made him old before his time. And he would stop talking to her, flirting with her, and making her laugh. He wouldn't wait for her always, Lily knew. Or, felt relatively certain about.

So she smiled at him back, curled her fingers into a fist around the ring, and trudged out of the glorious sunshine and back into the library. But she pressed the little ring in between the pages of Hogwarts a History, and told herself that she could maybe use it for blackmail later.

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She cried on his shoulder third year and then forgot about it, trying desperately hard to distance herself from anything that reminded her of her father's death, and embarrassed that she'd soaked a veritable stranger's shirt with tears and snot and Merlin knows what else.

They didn't speak—literally, not a single word—until he dumped mud on her at the end of fourth year. It hadn't really been hostile, but any blossomings of friendship between eleven- and twelve-year-olds faded rapidly once hormones became involved. James had begun to form his little clan of bandits with a strange earnest dedication, and Lily was awfully close with Alice, Lorraine, and an older boy named Frank.

But she had a really bad feeling that, rather than an ending, the mud business signified a beginning. And it did. Fifth year was miserable for Lily, and not just because of her period and the incumbent mild acne that fifteen brings with much joy.

James Potter seemed to dog her steps, appearing at random intervals when she looked her worst, had gotten the least sleep, and was hungriest. Basically, she blamed him completely for turning her into a heinous bitch and not even feeling sorry about it. She wasn't even that close with Sev anymore, but he was the only one who could calm her down after a Potter episode, and so she saw more of him that fall.

"Hey Evans, whatcha doing this weekend?" It was early October, and little did Lily know that this was just the beginning.

"Not you," Lily said.

"Aw, Evans, why you gotta be like that?" James asked, mussing his hair and leaning on the wall, blocking the door to Transfiguration. Lily balanced her giant stack of books (which he was not offering to help her carry, despite all this professed interest) and grinning at a group of fourth year Ravenclaws walking by. Lily was exhausted. She'd been up until three a.m. that morning, working on the Transfiguration essay due that day, and she was in no mood for Potter.

"Potter, seriously, I just want to sit down."

"Evans, baby," he leaned in, and she recoiled in horror. "C'mon, Evans, just one date," he said. "You know you want to let loose."

Lily sighed, trying not to snap. "I let loose just fine, thanks, with my friends."

"I can be the best friend you've ever had," James leered, and Lily's palm started to itch. Her books were extremely heavy.

"Potter, please get out of my way."

"Oh Evans, you don't mean that."

Lily tried in vain to push past him, and the top book on her stack fell off as he refused to budge. "That's _it_!" She snapped, dropping all her books. "I've had it up to here," she raised her hand to the height of her eyes, "with this crap. Potter, you need to leave me alone. I am not going on a date with you, so _please_ go pursue someone who cares!"

James stared at her, and under the façade of teenage blankness, she saw a brief flicker of despair, quickly tampered by disdain. "Let me know when you manage to get that stick out of your ass," he said, and sauntered into Transfiguration.

Lily bent down to pick up her books, and felt a little spiral of anger snap inside her. She grabbed up her prized fifth edition Transfiguration tome and hurled it at James's back in deadly smooth motion, just as he calmly turned and caught the book with a _smack_ in between his palms. Someone sitting down let out a breath, and Lily flushed with anger and embarrassment as James turned toward them to smile cockishly. Not even sparing her a glance, he let the book slide from his fingers, falling to the floor. Lily left her essay on the desk and skipped Transfiguration.

She never skipped class again, nor did she try and throw books. Instead, Lily tried to infuriate James with her ability to control her temper; to sit on her anger and not respond. In retaliation, he deliberately provoked her more and more aggressively, going out of his way to draw a reaction. They were each successful about half the time, with Lily often leaving the argument the victor, but less than proud of many of the things she'd said.

"You're such a _loser_," she snapped at James, one weekend in April, shortly before the conflict over Severus by the lake. Things were coming to head, although she didn't know it then. All she knew at the time was that they had been fighting like children all year, and she really couldn't take much more.

"At least I have friends," James retorted.

"Whatever, you know that's not what I mean or what I care about. I mean this, Potter, this. What are you doing? What are we doing? I'm exhausted, I'm tired of fighting with you. You have to know by now that this isn't going to become something."

James was silent for a moment.

"Hello-_o_, Potter, seriously!"

Then he summoned a grin, and a well of resilience. The boy's capacity for rejection astounded Lily. "Evans, here's one of those infrequent times," he smiled, "when I'm right, and you're wrong." Lily actually bit her lip to hide her smile of surprise, and remembered with sudden clarity James's ability to be funny, to be strangely adult and self-mocking. He had just admitted that she was generally right, had suddenly uttered a sentence so jarringly amusing and adult that Lily was dumbfounded.

"We both know," James continued, "for a fact, that is, that you want this." He gestured up and down his torso. "And we both know it's gonna happen." He winked lewdly at her, and bucked his hips a little bit.

Lily pulled back her hair and fake-vomited all over his shoes, then left.

Two weeks later, he tortured Severus by the lake, and later that evening she cornered him in the hallway. She had been patrolling for Prefect duty, and was actually fairly sure that he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do, but she could care less about those sorts of dumb rules at the moment.

"_What_ did you think you were doing earlier?" She demanded, invading his personal space against the wall, squishing him between a suit of armor and the cold stone.

"Beg pardon?" James asked. His mouth was definitely full. _Ah, kitchens_, Lily realized.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she hissed, and James hastily gulped down his mouthful, wiping his sleeve across his mouth to dislodge a few crumbs.

"Erm, yeah, about that.."

"You are _such_ an asshole." The poisonous words seemed to unlock a floodgate, and suddenly Lily was telling him everything she'd wanted to all year. And unlike most other boys her age, he didn't look at her like she was crazy and back slowly away. He stood there, watching the girl he loved, absorbing the flash of anger in her emerald eyes and the flush high on her cheekbones, and savored every moment. "You're so arrogant, Potter, and it's got to stop. You can't torture people, it makes you know better than the Death Eater insurgents. I hope you know that, that that's what it is, too. Torture, Potter, that's what picking on people littler and weaker than you is defined as, especially in groups. And all this harassment, I mean, seriously? I'm sick of it, sick to death of all of it, and I have other things that I need to be worrying about. I don't even know what you want anymore."

She finally stopped, breathing heavily, and James slid a hand onto her shoulder, reveling in her closeness. "Lily Evans, will you marry me?" He said, completely serious, and Lily started to cry and sweat with exhaustion and frustration.

"Potter, _please_, leave me alone."

It was his third proposal. "Consider it, Evans," he said, and then pulled her loosely into a hug, where she cried a little and then breathed deeply until she calmed down and tried to pretend that she didn't like the way he smelled. Because James smelled like a tennis court in the summer, after a thunderstorm. He was warm and the scent of dust and sun clung to him, overlayed by the musky, boyish scent of fresh rain and reassurance. His arms around her were gentle, still spindly and teenaged, and somehow undemanding. And Lily wondered for the hundredth, millionth time how he knew her so well, and how sometimes this strange, grownup person would break through this angsty adolescent and give her just exactly what she needed.

"I won't marry you," she told him finally, drawing away, her anger gone. She wasn't quite smiling, but the fury was absent.

"I'm sorry about Severus," James said. "I'll talk to Sirius."

"You probably would want to have a rushed wedding, and I couldn't really do that."

"I guess we have been taking things too far," he admitted.

"I want the big white dress, the flower girl, everything. I don't know if you'd be willing to go through that."

James drew close once more. "Evans, for you, I'd go through anything."

She placed a hand on his chest to halt his advance, but couldn't help smiling. "Oh, Potter…" She sighed. "You should go, before I have to take off points or something for you being out of bounds."

He smiled mischievously at her. "I know your patrol routes, Evans. Don't think for a second that this was accidental."

She sighed. "It never is, is it?"

He darted in, kissing her on the cheek before she could register the motion and try to slap him or something. "I don't leave you to chance, dearest." He darted away down the hallway, settling into an easy jog, long limbs folding and unfolding fairly gracefully for someone who hadn't quite outgrown their gawkiness. Lily sagged against the wall, letting out the breath that she'd been holding along with her hatred.

They might never be best friends, she decided. They would certainly never go to Hogsmeade, or get married, despite James's oddly long-lasting conviction, but they could be casual with one another eventually.

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And so it was that when James took her flying around the Quidditch pitch after graduation, and reminded her of their first ride there, and then dove down and fell off and rolled onto one knee, so it was that all these proposals flashed abruptly before Lily's eyes and she realized that she'd said yes a long time ago.


	11. trepidation

_A/N: Nearing the finish line. Drop me a review and let me know what you think!_

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**trepidation**

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It was a desperate, last-ditch attempt to distance herself from him. She knew he would most likely see through it, in that strange way that he had, intrinsically knowing her better than she would ever. His knowledge of her would never be fully explained; and Lily would never understand whether it was that he simply understood people, or he simply understood her. She supposed, at some point, it had stopped mattering to her.

It was a quiet afternoon for coffee, and he had invited her to a small, out-of-the way town named Godric's Hollow; the kind of place where she would daydream about raising a family. The village was cobbled and the stores were old and welcoming, in the quaint, warm way that only a small British village could possess. It was fall, a beautiful, unrivalled fall, and the leaves were a ripe, rich red, and they whirled and whorled in the air every time the wind blew and made Lily feel like she could be nineteen forever. But they simultaneously reminded her of her youth, and she suddenly felt rash for devoting her life to another, already so completely and finally, at so young an age.

"So I had a long talk with my parents today," James told her, as she sipped her cappuccino and looked out over the small town square, where an old concrete fountain had just been turned off for the season. She imagined babies' feet wading in the cool water, and abruptly chastised herself for thinking about such things.

"Really?" She eyed his hot cider with envy as the bitter flavor hit her tongue. Perhaps she had ordered wrong.

"They said—want a sip?" Lily laughed and greedily gulped some of his cider, burning her tongue in the process. James watched her with a strange warmth in his eyes, and she shivered. "Well, they started talking about their will, actually."

"Oh, dear," Lily said, as she felt a bolt of ice plummet through her stomach.

"Just, well, this is good news so don't worry. No, it was only because these are dangerous times, and they're getting older, so I think it's something mum sort of browbeat my dad into."

Lily nodded. "Well, spit it out then, Potter."

He winked at her, running a hand through his hair. "They're leaving me a good deal of money. To buy a house. Not right now, but in the future."

Her heart beat a strange pattern. "Wow. James… That's incredible."

"Here's the catch, though," he said. "I don't want to buy a house…well, a house that you don't like, Lily." And her heart broke a little inside. He looked at her, then, and changed the topic, and they talked lightly until Lily had finished James's cider and he had stolen her coffee completely.

"James, I need some time." She said it quickly, as if the speed could somehow make it more bearable, like ripping off a band-aid. He looked at her calmly, not the plaintive puppy eyes she had expected, and realized that he'd spent all his life fighting for her; had probably said all there was to say, and had held his heart's desire in his palm. It was her now, and if she wanted to leave then he was no longer going to try and stop her.

"Ok," he said, and that was that.

"Just…" She stood up. "I'll…" He stood too, holding her coat for her. She turned to face him, looked him straight in the eyes, and knew that his was something he didn't understand, and that was probably why it needed to happen (she was pretty sure).

He nodded, once, and she dissapparated, to sit on her sofa and cry and wonder why she had just broken up with the boy she loved.

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Sirius Black came to her apartment three days later. Sirius who had never loved her, had always been slightly jealous of the pull she had on James. She shuffled to the door in pajamas and let him in, and he scrambled eggs on her gas stove and watched her pretend to eat them. She suspected that Remus or Peter was at that moment doing something similar for James.

"He hasn't eaten either," Sirius said, when she finally just gave up entirely and laid down the fork. "If it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't," Lily said.

"Merlin-fucking-damn Gryffindors," Sirius suddenly snapped, slamming his palm down on the table. "You two with all your bullshit self-sacrifice crap." He stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Lily, who had opened her mouth to protest. "Don't even _try_ to deny it, Lily, I know exactly what this is about. It's like oh, we're so young blah blah, got to live our lives, can't dedicate it to someone else, got to let the thing you love be free, it's CRAP."

Lily blinked.

"You love the boy, and he loves you too!" Sirius cried. "You're both miserable as hell. What the fuck is wrong with you two? He has too much pride to come groveling, and you—"

"But that's just it," Lily interjected. "Boy. I love the boy. But we're growing up! I need a _man_."

And Sirius stopped to look at her very icily. "Lily," he said. "I like you. I really do. If you moved away, I'd be angry and upset and feel all those sorts of things that friends do. But things like that, that you say—moments like this—that's when I seriously question James's judgment. Because, my dear, have you ever though about the fact that maybe it's not just him? You need a man, yes yes, all girls do, but James needs a woman, too. Someone who can woman up enough to admit that they love him, and they're scared, but they are strong and brave and want to try and make this work, because they believe."

He paused for breath. "Believe what?" Lily asked.

"Believe that there maybe really is only one counterpart to the soul. Believe that if the world ends tomorrow, you'd want to die in his arms. Believe that it doesn't matter at all, really, if there are more people out there that could make you happier or different or better, because you are where you are, and it's what you want."

"Oh, Sirius," Lily sighed, and she vividly remembered that day on the Quidditch pitch when James had told her, half-expecting her to laugh, that this beautiful hard-faced boy had an artist's soul. She wondered who he'd loved so deeply, wanted to ask James, realized she couldn't. Wondered if he'd even tell her, anyways, because Sirius definitely never would.

And she remembered all the days that she had spent with James, walking around the lake, on the Quidditch pitch. All the proposals he'd made and all his strange confidence; her blasé acceptance of his love and devotion. James had always given her what she needed, and even now, when she was very probably breaking both their hearts, he was still giving her time and space. It was her turn to return the favor.

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Very few photographs survived the fire, but this day was memorialized forever.

Lily wouldn't normally think of Sirius as the camera-toting type, but he had revealed to her a peculiar softness around the edges that then somehow allowed her to be unsurprised when he produced one unexpectedly from his coat pocket.

She took James back to Godric's Hollow, but instead of sitting by the café they sat on the edge of the fountain, which was beginning to fill with leaves. It was another incredible fall day, blustery and inachievably beautiful, with a crispness that made Lily ache to be alive. James was wearing a chunky, patterned sweater that was cozy and perfect, and her red wool pea-coat clashed delightfully with her hair. She was wearing it long, now, elegant and old-fashioned, and she usually pulled it up in a coiffe but today it was down, the way he loved it, flickering with the wind and blending with the brightly colored leaves.

They sat together by the fountain for a long time, saying nothing, and finally Lily took his hand, and interlaced her pale fingers with his. "I'm sorry," she said.

And he smiled at her. The conversation could wait for evening. He grabbed her other hand and pulled her up, as the leaves swirled around them, and Lily felt herself smiling as if her face would burst and crack in two. She smiled and smiled at his shining face, and he gazed at her with unadulterated adoration, and she only smiled more.

Sirius and Remus and Peter piled out of the café where they'd been eavesdropping (some things never change) and laughed at them as they danced around, and then Sirius took photos of them all, and Peter started throwing leaves at Remus and they danced in the whirling air, twirling among the splash of colors like a painted canvas, reveling in the crispness and beauty of the day and the miracle of being young and happy and alive, and then Lily laughed until her stomach hurt and James had to hold her up as Sirius rolled in the beautiful leaves and they stuck to him like a porcupine.

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**review? **


	12. despair

_A/N: Oh so close._

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**despair **

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He was standing outside in the rain. It was raining torrents now, where minutes ago it had only been drizzling, and he was soaking. Rain dripped down his hair, and his shirt clung thickly to his chest as he simply let it pour around him.

She watched him from the window, unsure of where to begin.

"Lily," Sirius had cried breathlessly, running in to the office in the Ministry in the middle of work. His eyes were wild, the eyes of a person who has just seen something worse than they had ever imagined was possible. He had only been slightly damp, as it hadn't really begun raining then. "You've got to come, now."

She had bolted from her desk, grabbing whatever was close to hand. A disheveled Sirius, basically asking for her help? Something was terribly, terribly wrong. "Sirius Black, what's going on?" She had asked as she jogged behind him to the Apparition point.

"It's James," he had said, before grabbing her arm and tugging her into Side-Along Apparition to god-knew-where.

"His parents. Sometime early this morning," Sirius said behind her, startling her. James made such a beautiful picture, standing romantically in the rain as it rushed down. They were in his parents' house, neat and tidy, surrounded by well-kept gardens. Eileen Potter had been an avid gardener.

"Where?" Her voice wavered, and she barely managed to force the word out.

Sirius pointed through the window, and Lily bit her lip. "The Ministry removed the bodies. But he still won't leave."

She turned to Sirius, looking up at the face, now pinched and drawn with pain and fatigue, that hundreds of girls had sighed over, cried over, idolized. His long hair fell around the sharp, angular lines of his cheekbones, shielding his dark eyes from her silent interrogation.

Lily felt her resolve quiver, as she was hit with her youth like a ton of bricks. But now, now was the time when she had to be strong, for both James and Sirius. So she straightened her shoulders, refusing to allow her spine to curve with the weight of despair, and summoned the inner flame that James had always been able to see, always admired.

"Oh, Sirius," she breathed softly, hugging him around the shoulders. She held on, burying her face in his shirt, until she felt him relax against her. Even then, she continued to hold him, and finally felt him convulse with a suppressed sob.

"They were my parents too," he said, his voice muffled and choked. "They—"

There was nothing to be said. She comforted him until he gently pulled away, awkwardly wiping the back of his wrist against his eyes.

"I'm going to go get Moony and Wormtail," he muttered, reverting to the childish nicknames that Lily had never quite understood, and disapparated.

Leaving her, alone, at the window, watching James. The sky was darkening further now, and she felt her brow crease with worry at the clearly impending thunder.

She opened the door. "James," she called halfheartedly, not really expecting a response. She was unsurprised when he didn't even flinch at the sound of her voice. "James, come inside."

Him standing there in the rain… She pushed down her memories of the Potters—Eileen smiling and laughing as she tried to get Lily to have a third helping of hotcakes, Stan wrestling James in front of the fire while Eileen wagged her finger and good-naturedly threatened them with fates worse than death if they broke anything.

Eileen hugging her, whispering in her ear that she had changed James for the better. Stan clapping her on the shoulder, looking her in the eye, telling her that he couldn't have wished for a better daughter, and then elbowing James in the ribs and laughing at his son's red face.

James brushing her hair off her face, telling her that she reminded him of his mother with an uncharacteristically soft look in his eyes, those twinkling eyes that were currently devoid of any spark of life or laughter. _The Potter men have always loved redheads._

Stan, showing her the way to James' bedroom with a hearty wink that nearly made her cry with embarrassment, Eileen teaching her how to plant petunias and bluebells, even as Lily wrinkled her nose at the unwanted memories of her sister.

James shyly handing her a bouquet of lilies on their anniversary…confessing much later that it had been Eileen's idea after all, Lily smiling and kissing Eileen on the cheek. Eileen and Lily crying as James went on his first (and only) Auror mission without Lily. James leaning on Stan as Lily left for her own solo-mission—Stan clapping him on the back as she disapparated.

Taking a deep breath, she controlled the onslaught and pushed back her own tears. James needed her right now, and so, squaring her shoulders again for good measure, she slipped out the door in to the downpour.

She stood beside him until she, too, was soaked to the bone. She was silent with him, listening to the rush and splash of water all around them, marveling silently about the greatness of the universe—and simultaneously, the cruelty of it all. In the silence broken only by rain, everything felt so vast, Lily was insignificant.

She slipped her hand into his, curling their icy, stiff fingers together, and felt the familiar tingle of warmth in her stomach. Lily was overwhelmed by her love for this man as she looked up at his face and understood.

He tweaked their joined hands so that she was crushed against him, and she raised her hands to wrap them around his neck, pulling his lips fiercely against her own.

They collided with a violence and passion, and Lily felt his rage and despair. His fingers found her hips and he pulled her closer to him, pulling her up and closer until she finally acquiesced, wrapping her legs around his waist as he deepened the kiss, burying his fingers in her sodden hair until she was so tightly against him that she was afraid to breathe for fear of breaking contact.

She was rapidly losing herself in him, as pain receded to the background in lieu of his touch. James had always had the ability to drive all thought from her mind. They tumbled to the ground, her legs still wrapped around him, covering themselves in mud and grass and more water, and Lily allowed herself to surrender completely.

He rolled her over so that she was on her back, and looking in to his eyes, she saw the darkness of lust and grief. But then, she had only ever had love to give—only ever known how to give love. And really, what better balm for pain? They were both lovers; it was in neither of their natures to hate.

The rain was so thick that Lily could barely see a foot in front of them, but she knew that if she could, she would see only the empty house and the lush hills rolling on for miles and miles.

"Come on, James," she whispered at last, pushing herself up on one elbow, her hair stuck to her face and her back, her shirt soaked and muddy. "Let's go home."

She took his hand, tenderly, and for a moment they simply sat like that, on the ground in a puddle of mud, while the rain poured ceaselessly around them.

Lily could tell that he was about to resist and attempt to remain, when he looked at her. She knew what a picture she must make right now—cold, wet, muddy, shivering, partially-clothed and her lips were definitely blue. He blinked, and as she had done before, realized that someone else needed him, someone else depended on him.

He nodded, and she apparated them back to their flat. She fiddled with the locks while James dripped and looked blank, and together they stumbled to the couch. She managed to cast a few drying charms before they sat down, but already the warm, vaguely stuffy air of the room was doing wonders.

James collapsed in to her lap, and for the first time in her life, Lily saw tears streaking across his hollowed cheeks. He buried his head in her pants, still damp and slightly dirty, and shuddered.

Lily sat there, softly stroking his hair—the hair that she had always thought she had detested, remembering the fifteen-year-old's trademark motion that always had it standing on end.

_Go out with me, Evans. _

_Hogsmeade, Evans. _

_Maybe if you'll date me, Evans. _

_Evans—Evans—you drive me wild! _James's voice echoed in her head, and she was seventeen again, spinning crazily in his arms, the wondrous, lightheaded feeling of being young, and carefree, and in love.

_Your eyes define me, Evans._ She was back in the moment, back in those wondrous, heady Hogwarts days, filled with laughter and sunshine and long, lazy hours spent together.

_I love you_. _I've loved you for a long time, and I'm not going to stop anytime soon._ She remembered the tingles running up and down her spine as he had held her, pressed in to the smooth, tiled wall of the Hogwarts bathroom. _ I love you too_, she had whispered, hair falling across her back as he tilted her face up to scrutinize her eyes.

"Shhh," she hummed, tracing his face, smoothing his shirt, fingers trailing along his back. "It will all be okay."

James was still incapable of speech, this strong man, a man on whom she'd come to rely as a pillar of confidence and competence.

"Do you know why?" She continued. "Because I know _you_, James, and they did too. And we know that you're strong enough to overcome this. You'll always miss them, we both will, but eventually, you'll be able to go on."

His hand grabbed hers and squeezed, and for the moment, it was enough.

"We have each other. I'm not going anywhere, James, and I never will. I promise," Lily whispered, and suddenly her voice was fierce. "_I promise I'll be here forever_. And we'll find those people—those _things—_who hurt you, and we'll _hurt them back_."

James raised his head, and his eyes were red and his cheeks were wet, but his mouth was set in a grim line. "I'm going to find them all," he swore. "Every last one. And last of all, I'll find Voldemort, and when I do, I'm going to _kill _him, or he's going to have to kill me and every last person in my family."

"James—" Lily began, laying a hand on his arm. "I—"

"Stop," he snapped, brushing her hand away, and Lily sighed and started to stand. But she stopped in the doorway, looking at him stretched out on a couch, face turned away from her, and a little piece of her heart broke. He looked so young, and vulnerable, and so utterly alone, and in his lanky elbows and knees she saw so clearly the awkward seventeen-year-old boy he used to be, jovial and full of life.

She ran back to him, sinking to her knees in front of him on the couch, and began to cry as well. "I miss them too," she said through her tears. "So much. And I always will." The sobs grew thicker as she tried to enunciate clearly her next sentence. "But—Potter—don't," she hiccoughed, "don't—don't leave me here, don't leave me," she cried, and then she was in his arms, squeezed next to him on their old, shabby couch, sobbing, and she couldn't tell where her tears ended and his began.

"I love you," he was whispering, and stroking her hair, and she was saying it too, like it could ward off all the evils of the world.

And it was then that he realized it, holding her delicate frame (yet at the same time, so steely) in his arms as she clung to him as if he were the last person on earth.

"My world revolves around you," he said. "I want to marry you, now."

She looked at him with her large green eyes, those eyes that he loved so much, eyes he would die for, live for, change for—and nodded, even as she blinked away a tear. "Of course."

He let loose the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "I was sort of…" _Hoping for the right time_, he finished. _It wasn't supposed to be like this. _

"Nothing ever turns out like it's supposed to, James," she said softly, and he knew she was remembering the same thing he was.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" He had cried, desperately, trying to make her understand. "You and me! Not like this—never like this!"

"Then how was it supposed to be, James? There is a _war_ going on, and sometimes we just survive, we just do what we can!" She had responded, eyes blazing.

"We were supposed to be young and in love, carefree, _married_, buying our first house together in the country," he had whispered, brokenly, running his fingers through her hair. "Not having trouble affording some dirty old flat in the city, with you and me barely out of Hogwarts, unsure of what we want, struggling to stay together and stay afloat, engaged at graduation but barely able to do anything about it." And they were both thinking back to that perfect day on the Quidditch pitch, the day he'd proposed with another grass ring, promising her the future forever in the most tenuous of ways. How she'd run, when he'd found the house in Godric's Hollow, but how now, after his parents' death, perhaps things would work themselves out, after all.

"Well," Lily had begun, ever sensible. "The dirt can be cleaned. We both have jobs lined up, too, so that won't be a problem, we're going to be fine. You have the house you've been looking at, in Godric's Hollow. And I know what _I_ want," she had murmured, looking up at him from beneath long lashes.

He had run a hand through his hair, a familiar, well-loved motion. "Lily—I."

"Potter?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you stop worrying about how it was _supposed_ to be, and just kiss me?"

But now it was different. Now, his parents were dead, and everything had changed.

There was nothing more Lily could say, so they lay there, and she stroked his hair and murmured. Finally, he was able to stop shaking, and, snuggling his face in to the curve of her neck, slept.

"It doesn't always work out how it's supposed to, James," she whispered to herself. "But I've never cared."

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	13. i'll show you how it began

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_WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be_

_Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,_

_Before high piled books, in charact'ry,_

_Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;_

_When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,_

_Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,_

_And think that I may never live to trace_

_Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;_

_And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!_

_That I shall never look upon thee more,_

_Never have relish in the faery power_

_Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore_

_Of the wide world I stand alone, and think_

_Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink._

_-Keats_

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**i'll show you how it began**

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Lily Evans. Small, timid, afraid for the first time in her short life of eleven years. Her parents, muggles and not entirely sure what was going on, had not come through the barrier with her. They had not been able to see the other children her age and older who had disappeared through the solid brick and stone.

"Lily, are you sure?" Meghan Evans had asked, warily eyeing the large train station around them.

"Yes, mum, let me just kiss you goodbye here. I feel like next year I'll be more 'in the know,' so then you'll be able to come with me."

"But it's all just so odd…" Steven Evans looked frustrated. "Platform 9 ¾, I mean, it sounds like a joke!"

Lily shrugged. They had already had this discussion several times before, and every time, it concluded the same.

"Steve, you know that there is something _special_ about Lily," her mother hissed to her father in hushed tones. She didn't understand why Meghan thought she couldn't hear—it's not like she was very far away.

"I know," he shot back. "But she's our _daughter_. I just…"

"Look," Meghan said, sighing. "Dumbly-dore was very reassuring when he came to the house. If all of this is true, and, really, what choice do we have but to believe it?—then I want Lily to have this opportunity."

Lily still wasn't sure what she thought of all of this. True, strange things tended to happen on occasion, like when Jeremy Brown was found seven feet away from her, in a trash can, after disappearing right before his fist landed on her face.

That…had never really been explained.

She had been expelled for fighting, despite her protests that, honestly, it was completely his fault.

Or when she cut off her little finger with the garden shears. She had only been six, and helping her father prune the hedges, when the large scissors had slipped and snipped off the tip of her finger, right through the nail. She had been too shocked to cry, catching the little piece of pinky and uncomprehending that it was no longer attached.

But after the outpour of hysterical tears began, when they got to the hospital, they found the finger as good as new, with only a cut. She got a couple stitches, but the cut was gone the next day, without even a scar. She'd never really told anyone about that. Her parents had been happy to believe that it was a young child's overreaction to blood, and as she got older, she simply never mentioned her vivid recollection of the day.

The craziest, scariest thing, however, was definitely the time when she was ten. She and Tuny were having tea together, and their parents had just for dinner and a movie. Tuny was fourteen, old enough now that they didn't need a babysitter.

"What movie do you think they're going to?" Lily asked.

"I don't know, why don't you ask them," Tuny snapped sullenly. Tuny was always sullen, so this was nothing special. "I can't _believe_ I couldn't go to Camilla's party tonight because I had to stay and watch _you_."

"You don't have to watch me!" Lily said defensively. "I'm ten. I can watch out for myself. Besides, I didn't ask for you to stay. I wanted Elisa to come babysit, she's always nice when she comes. She plays Monopoly with me."

"Yeah and lets you win. That's the only reason you like it. Besides Elisa's a loser, she doesn't have any friends. That's why she babysits _you_."

"Well I like her. I'm her friend," Lily said staunchly, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Tuny took a gulp of tea. "That's because you're a freak, like her, and you don't have any friends either."

"Do too!" Lily cried, in the high-pitched voice of a ten year-old on the verge of tears.

"Do not, freak!" Tuny sneered, clearly failing to recognize the signals of an impending tantrum. "No one likes you, that's why you had to leave your old school, freak-freak-freak-freak," she started to chant, looking at Lily, eyes bulging. "Even Mum and Daddy don't like you, ugly loser freak, freak-freak-freak—"

Lily felt herself turning red, anger overcoming all of the sensible, ten-year old judgment telling her that the only reason Tuny was saying these things was because she was jealous and bitter.

She stood up on her chair, so that she was effectively towering over Tuny, who was obliviously carrying on her malicious chant. "SHUT UP!" She shrieked with all her might, and when Tuny opened her mouth to retort, eyes laughing cruelly, her teacup exploded.

It wasn't a small explosion—a hairline crack that finally capitulated, causing the hot liquid to pour in to Tuny's lap. It wasn't even a medium explosion, that could possible be explained by Lily's high volume, and a bouncing jump on the chair, causing the cup to bounce and fall, splatter and crack.

No, Tuny's cup exploded outwards with the force of a small bomb. She was showered with hot liquid and broken pieces of crockery as the cup shattered, hurling itself in all directions.

Lily screamed, a high-pitched, terrified, hurt sound, as Petunia's plate and water glass exploded in a chain reaction.

Things seemed to pause in midair, falling at her feet before hitting her, standing on the chair, or veering slightly off course.

She remembered standing motionless on the chair after it was over, looking at the dripping Tuny. The silence in the room had been overbearing, and there was rushing in her ears. She knew, somehow, that what had just happened had been her fault.

"_Freak_," Tuny had finally whispered, eyeing her completely unharmed sister with something approaching hatred. She got up and ran out of the room, and hadn't spoken or even looked at Lily for weeks.

They had never been close before that incident, and they never were afterwards. Lily's admission and subsequent departure for a magical world was only one more separating factor.

And so here they were, standing together in an awkward clump, as Lily kissed her parents gently and suppressed her tears. Her mother clearly felt no such restraint, bawling openly as she kissed Lily repeatedly.

"Just be safe, darling," Meghan kept saying. "You know that if it were up to me I would never send you away. I want you to be happy, love. That's all."

Lily smiled bravely. "This is the right thing for me, mum," she said with a confidence she didn't feel.

Steven was wiser. He gathered Lily in his arms, allowing her to bury her face in the familiar smell of his sweater. And if a few tears leaked out, they were quickly and quietly absorbed, with her mother unworried. "Be sure to send us letters, Lil," he reminded her. "We may not understand everything, but we want to. I think this is all pretty grand."

She drew back, nodding, and scrubbing her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "And get good marks," Meghan cautioned her. "I don't know what kinds of classes you'll be taking, but Evans never do poorly."

"Honestly, mum," Lily laughed. "I know."

And suddenly she was walking away from them, slipping through the barrier, and in front of her a huge crimson train was pouring steam. Her cart and trunk suddenly felt very bulky, and the cage containing the owl she had yet to name wobbled precariously.

Steeling herself and lifting her chin, she hesitantly advanced on the nearest doorway, where a conductor was engaged in conversation with a large blonde woman on the platform. He nodded at her as she awkwardly pushed her trunk in front of her on to the carriage, struggling with its large weight and heaving with all the energy in her small frame.

Just as it was about to fall on her toe, and Lily was envisioning her first weeks of school in a large and ungainly cast, a slim hand caught it, lifting it with no apparent effort.

The slim hand was attached to an equally slim arm, which in turn belonged to a small boy with a tousled head of black hair. He looked oddly familiar, and Lily resisted the urge to cock her head and study him further. He was ridiculously small and thin to be lifting her heavy trunk with such ease, but suddenly all her bags were inside and she was standing on the edge of the platform, eyeing the boy's proffered hand.

Somewhere, a clock tolled eleven, and steam began pouring from the front of the train

Their hands met, and she beamed at him.

He blinked, momentarily blinded. Shaking his head, he helped her in to the train, moving them out of the way so the conductor could shut the door, holding on to her hand just a bit too long.

It was the start of the epic, tragic, doomed romance. It would last through eons, their desperate love defying the boundaries of time and space as they fell in love and died in millions of universes, through millions of lives and loves. In this moment, and forever after, Lily and James were every lover that had ever been, every Romeo and Juliet ever to defy the very boundaries of life for their love. The string connecting them was tangible, distinct. Death and love hovered around them, the ghost of a child they would never know and always wish to love, the years they had lost in hatred, the perfect joy in being together that they had finally found.

_James had always had the ability to drive her wild._

The phantom tears of terrible fights trailed down cheeks: puffy eyes, suppressed sobs.

Rain and tragedy mixed in the silence.

"_Evans_," _James's voice—husky, warm, suggestive._

The perfection of a single summer day by the lake lingered in the air: the light, dry smell of grass and heat lingering on the lips. The chill of winter breezed through, of snowflakes melting on lips and heated bodies.

_James's hand—trailing, trickling, the adrenaline of contact leaving a trail of fire as her entire body burned. James's hand tracing her face, curling underneath her chin. Tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, framing her jaw. _

Lips that brushed hers, held her, caressed her, entranced her, completed her.

"_James Potter," she whispered. "You make me crazy." _

And so it was that the boy she had never really liked kissed the girl that he had always loved, and it was perfect.

"_I _want_ to hate you," James said. "I want to, I've wanted to for so long."_

James was oblivious to all but her glowingly fresh face. If he'd been paying attention, he might have realized something was going on—but when was James Potter ever paying attention?

"_Lily Evans…" it was James, chastising. "I remember every second."_

Lily felt her palm tingle where he had held her hand, and something that she wouldn't recognize for another five years, and wouldn't admit for six, settled in the back of her mind.

The boy disappeared after her chivalrous act, and Lily wondered what his name was. He was probably a slightly older student, she finally decided, helping out clueless first years like herself. She was disappointed that he hadn't asked her to share a compartment with him, or introduced her to his friends, but he probably didn't want to coddle her—she had to be able to make friends and find people on her own.

She headed off in the other direction, nearly running over a blonde girl slightly taller than herself.

"Oh, hello," the girl said airily, blue eyes wide, dreamy, and undeniably kind. "I'm Alice, what's your name?"

After all, they were just beginning their first year. There was plenty of time.

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